
Class. 



Book IL - 

GopightW 

COPffilGHT DEPOSm 



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PRISON LIFE 



DIXIE. 



GIVING A SHORT HISTORY OF THE INHUMAN 

AND BARBAROUS TREATMENT OF OUR 

SOLDIERS BY REBEL AUTHORITIES. 



SERGEANT OATS. 



ILLUSTKATED WITH NUMEROUS PULL PAGE 
ENGRAVINGS. 



TO WHICH IS ADDED THE SPEECH OF GEN. J. A. GARFIELD, 

DELIVERED AT THE ANDERSONVILLE REUNION, 

AT TOLEDO, OHIO, OCT, o, 1879. 



CENTRAL BOOK GOHCERN. 

1880. 



Copyright by 

CENTRAL BOOK CONCERN, 

1880. 






DEDICATION. 



TO THE SURVIVORS OF ANDERSONVILLB 

PRISON, MY COMRADES IN SUFFERING, 

THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED. 



PREFACE. 

It is not claimed for this story that it gives 2ifull 
and fcrfed history cf the sufferings of the 
Union prisoners in the South during the war ; but 
the writer has endeavored to furnish such descrip- 
tions and incidents as will give the reader a true 
picture of Rebel Prisons, and the means and meth- 
ods of living or dying in them. 

In doing this, he has relied on his memory; 
selecting those fact', and trying to paint those pict- 
ures which are clearest and plainest in his own 
mind. He has not tried to color these descriptions 
— they would not bear it ; but has told them ia 
plain language, just as they seem to him after a 
lapse of fifteen years. 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



Stokm at Night 1 

Plan of Stockade 39 

Result of Crossing the Dead-line 46 

Distributing Rations 52 

Breaking of the Stockade 64, 

Captured by Blood-hounds 107 

Wanted a Shirt 114 

(8) 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

Sherman in front of Atlanta. — The Raid. — Sleepy Guards. 
— Pontoon Boats. — Rebel Camp Surrenders. — In the 
Enemy's Land. — Palmetto in Ashes. — A Running 
Fight 13 

CHAPTER II. 

A Southern Bridge.— Waiting fot Stragglers. — Sharpshoot- 
ers.— Bombshell.— The Capture 23 

CHAPTER III. 

Robbed. — Traded Hats. — A Rebel Woman. — Stored in a 
Cotton Warehouse. — Taken to Andersonville. — Sumter 
Prison. — The Stockade 31 

CHAPTER IV. 

Arrival at Andersonville. — A Warning. — Hiding Valuables. 
— " Old Wirtz ".—Stripped, Searched, Robbed and 
Turned in. — The Dead Line. — How We Obtained 
Thread 40 

(9) 



10 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER V. 

Our New Quarters. — " Nigger Peas." — Mode of Drawing 
Rations. — Always Hungry. — Vermin. — Horrible.' — Fear- 
ful Mortality 50 

CHAPTER VI. 

Cruelty of our Grovernment. — Study of Human Nature. - 
Nothing to do, — Church Privileges. — A Catholic Priest.- 
August Storms. — A Water Spout. — Providence. — A 
Break in the Stockade. — A Dash for Liberty 59 

CHAPTER VII. 

Longing for News. — Nothing Reliable could be heard 

from the Rebels. — " Atlanta Gone to ." — Moving 

Prisoners. — False Reports about Exchange. — Going out 
on a Dead Man's Name.— Crowded into Cars like Stock. 
—Wrecked 68 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Taken Back to the Pen. — Plans of Escape. — Tunnels. — 
Bloodhounds. — Poor Drummer Boy. — Our Plan. , . 77 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Leap for Freedom. — Our Wardrobe. — A Friendly Alli- 
gator. — Traveling by Night 85 

CHAPTER X. 

In the Swamps. — Discouraged. — A Fat Frog. — Flint 
River. — A Borrowed Canoe 93 

CHAPTER XL 

A Provoking Dilemma. — A Chance for Tyndall. — Swim- 
ming Rivers by Night. — Concealed in a Pile of Rags. — 



CONTENTS. 11 

A New Trouble. — Almost Starved,— Starve or Steal. — 
Hopes Growing Bnighter. — A Familiar Sound. — Caught 
by Bloodhounds. — Rather Die than go back to Anderson- 
ville 98 

CHAPTER XII. 

Our Captors.— A Hospitality not before Encountered in 
the South. — AVanted, A Shirt. — The Situation Discuss- 
ed. — Kindness 110 

CHAPTER XIII. 

On the Road.— A Mob.— Red-Tape Fops. — Jailed 119 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Columbus Jail. — Better Fare. — To Macon. — New 
Plans for Escape. — Camp Lawton 126 

CHAPTER XV. 

False Promises of Exchange.— Searching for Acquaint- 
ances. — Presidential Election. — The Result 133 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Attempt to Entice Prisoners to make Shoes for the Rebel 
Army. The Temptation. — Enlistments. — Running the 
Gauntlet. — ^Another Change 138 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Life on the Rail Road. — The Blues. — Great Excitement. 

Sherman loose in Georgia. — Swamps. — A Country Resi- 
dence. — "Poor White Trash." — A Citizen 143 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
"Flanking." — Exchange. — A Dash for Liberty.— Moved 



12 CONTENTS. 

Again. — A Square Meal. — Back to Andersonville . . . 150 
CHAPTER XIX. 

Andersonville in "Winter. — The "Weather — How Fuel was 
Obtained. — Efforts to Keep "Warm. — Good News. — Man- 
ufacturing Industries. — "Raising "" Confed. Money., 157 

CHAPTER XX. 

Sheds. — Spring has come. — Sighing for News. — Prospect 
jor Exchange. — Left Alone. — Ready to die 165 

CHAPTER XXI. 
The Exchange Stopped. — "Wilson's Raid. — New Hope. — 
Stocks. — A Hasty Move. — Another Plan to Escape. — 
Great Excitement Among the Rebs. — Rebel Lies. — Cor- 
ralled for the Last Time 173 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Preparations for Another Move. — Anxiously Waiting. — 
Rebel Advice. — Turned Loose.* — A Pa«^^hetic Scene. — 
Tears and Curses. — Manifestations of Joy at Sight of 
the Old Flag.— God's Country 183 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Homeward Bound. — A Feast. — Too Happy to Sleep. — On 
the Atlantic. — Ice for the Sick(?).— Home at Last. 193 

Speech of Gen. Garfield at the Andersonville Reunion, at 
Toledo, Ohio, Oct. 5, 1879 199 

Andersonville in 1880 206 



CHAPTER I. 



THE RAID. 



While Sherman's army lay in front of 
Atlanta, he determined to send his cavalry 
on a raid to the enemy's rear, to destroy 
their railroad communication. So, on July 
27th, 1864, General Stoneman moved east- 
w^ard to pass around the flank of the rebel 
army, and General Ed. McCook, at the same 
time, started to pass around the left. 

McCook's command numbered about 
2,000 men, well mounted and equipped, of 
which the writer was one. 

We all knew the nature of the mission 
on which we were sent, and felt that it was 
(13) 



14 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

difficult. For it is not easy for two thou- 
sand men to go behind a hostile army of 
sixty thousand, and do any damage, and — 
get back. 

Early on that bright, hot July morning, 
the bugle called us into line — an inspec- 
tion was made, and all lame horses or sick 
men ordered back to camp. We consoled 
those who had to stay behind with the 
promise that we would bring them a plug 
of tobacco when we came back. When we 
came hack ? We shall see. 

Thus relieved of all that would encum- 
ber us, we moved out on the road and 
started westward. We crossed the Chatta- 
hoochee at Sandtown, and passed down on 
the west side about twenty miles to the 
vicinity of Campbelltown, when the com- 
mand was ordered to rest under cover of 
the woods, and scouts sent out to find a 
place at which to cross the river. The 
different scouting parties returned with 
reports that all the fords and ferries were 
fortified and guarded by rebel infantry. 

About midnight we again mounted, and 
under cover of the darkness, with no sound 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 15 

but the tread of our horses on the sandy 
road, we crept down the river about five 
miles farther, to an old, deserted ferry. 
Two companies were stationed at this 
point, and they had a picket-post on our 
side of the river; four men and an officer 
were on guard, but thinking the Yanks 
were far away they had set their guns 
against a tree, built a little fire to smoke 
off the mosquitoes, and were quietly snooz- 
ing when our scouts crept up, moved the 
guns from the tree, and then, with their 
own guns cocked and ready, waked up the 
pickets and told them to keep very quiet, 
as we wished to cross the river without 
disturbing any one. 

We halted on the river bank, our pon- 
toon wagons were ordered up, and we had 
two boats made and launched in a few 
minutes. 

For many of our readers, I will state 
that the pontoons taken by the cavalry on 
their raids were light frames that could 
be put together or taken apart in a mo- 
ment. When the frame or skeleton was 
put together, a cloth of thick canvas was 



16 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

stretched over it, fastened at the corners, 
and it was ready to launch. The material 
for a boat twenty feet long, six wide, and 
two deep, could be carried in a very small 
space. 

Four companies crossed, and deployed 
along the east bank; the rest drew up in 
line on the west shore and waited for day. 
As soon as it was light enough, the troops 
on the east side surrounded the rebel 
camp, and they surrendered without firing 
a gun. 

Preparations were at once begun for 
crossing the river, but it was almost noon 
before the entire command was across. 

From here the pontoon wagons were sent 
back under a guard. Our prisoners were 
turned loose because we had no way of 
taking care of them, and we started rapid- 
ly across the country in search of the 
Atlanta & West Point railroad. 

When we left the river, after seeing our 
bridge taken out on the other side, we 
recognized that we were no longer a part 
of the great army before Atlanta, but a 
detached brigade in the enemy's land, with 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 17 

a powerful army between us and our camp- 
ground. The news of the raid would 
spread like a prairie fire; we would be 
headed off, followed up, and harrassed. 
Our safety lay in rapid movement. 

We traveled well that afternoon. At 
about eight o'clock, in the midst of a thun- 
der shower, we came upon the railroad 
near the town of Palmetto. 

We deployed a skirmish line and moved 
on the town. A company of rebel cavalry 
fired one volley and fled, and we posted a 
heavy picket to prevent surprise, and went 
to work. The rain ceased by the time we 
were fairly at work, and the stars came 
out. 

We tore down the telegraph wire, wound 
up a quarter of a mile of it, and sunk it 
in a pond. We tore up as much railroad 
track, made fires of the ties, and piled the 
rails on them, so as to heat and bend them. 

There were a half-dozen freight cars 
on the side track, and a large quantity of 
bacon in the depot, and four or five ware- 
houses filled with baled cotton near the 
track. These were fired — and what a ter- 
2 



18 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE, 

rible fire they made! The whole town and 
surrounding country were lit up by the 
red glare. 

The clouds overhead reflected the light 
and shone like red sunset. The fire be- 
came so hot that no one could pass along 
the street. It spread to adjacent build- 
ings. The citizens were seen scampering 
in all directions. Even women — some of 
them in their night clothes, with white, 
scared faces — flitted from alley to street 
and from street to alley. Palmetto at sun- 
set knew^ that there was war in the land, 
but she lay down secure in the feeling that 
she had a grand army in front of her to 
defend her from invasion. Before midnight 
she realized that war — destructive, terri- 
ble, cruel — was in her midst. The next 
morning arose upon a blackened ruin. It 
was the track of war. 

A little before midnight our work was 
done, and we swept out of town toward the 
east. Just east of town we passed a planta- 
tion where tw^o or three hundred negroes, 
of all ages and sexes, were sitting on the 
fence watching the red glare of the burning 



PRISON LIFE IN' DIXIE. 19 

village. The light was bright enough to 
make everything distinct. As we rocle by, 
one old ''aunty" raised her hands toward 
heaven and cried aloud, ''Bress de Lord! 
de jubilee hab come!" 

At about three o'clock a. m., we came 
upon a large park of army wagons; we 
were told that there were eight hundred 
of them. Hood had sent them back there 
to have them safe. We took the mules, 
burned the wagons, and turned the drivers 
loose. 

At about seven o'clock that morning we 
struck the Macon railroad near Love joy 
station, where we expected to form a junc- 
tion with Stoneman, who. had started 
around the other way. 

We treated this road like we did the 
other; captured and destroyed a train of 
cars, and sent out scouts in all directions 
to feel for Stoneman. 

Some of our scouts came back to tell us 
that there was rebel cavalry near us. Some 
did not come back at all. No word or sign 
from Stoneman could we get. We feared 



20 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE 

he was in trouble, or ^'goiie up," but we 
wanted some word. 

But as evidence multiplied that the 
Johnnies were thickening around us, we all 
became impatient. Croxton and Brownlow 
were chafing like caged tigers. They felt 
that waiting was fatal. (I have always 
believed that Croxton could have taken us 
out of the scrape.) But McCook was loth 
to leave without first learning the fate of 
Stoneman. 

About two o'clock p. m. he gave it up. By 
this time the rebs had surrounded us, and 
were just waiting to see how we would 
try to get out. We skirmished with them 
for an hour, feeling their line on the west 
and south, and losing five or six men killed. 
We then massed our forces, and charging 
up a ravine, broke their line and fled; and 
all that afternoon, and the night following, 
we had a running fight, they crowding our 
rear the whole time. 

Whenever they would get too close, one 
or two companies of our command would 
be deployed to skirmish with them. This 
would cause them to halt and form for 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 21 

attack, and thus give us a little time. 
True, these companies were often captured, 
but they were sacrificed to save the rest 
of the command. 



CHAPTER II. 



THE CAPTURE. 



The first chapter closed with our flight 
after we cut through the rebel's line near 
Love joy station. Twice during the after- 
noon they pressed our rear so closely that 
we were obliged to deploy a skirmish line 
and show fight, in order to gain time. But 
after dark, we rode on without hearing or 
seeing anything of our pursuers, and the 
hope that they had encamped for the 
night was struggling for a place in our 
minds; though, really, our knowledge of 
our pursuers (Wheeler's cavalry) gave us 
small room for hope. 
(22) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIP]. 23 

The night was warm; there was no 
wind, and a haze crept up, till the only 
stars visible were those near the zenith. 

About midnight we came to a little 
river. We approached it, coming down a 
sloping hillside for perhaps two hundred 
yards, through a scrubby growth of oak, 
known as oak barrens, which is common 
in many parts of the South. The road had 
been changed about on this hillside till 
there were five or six parallel tracks and 
ditches running among the brush. 

A bridge of Southern style spanned this 
river. Let me describe it: Three cribs, or 
pens of logs, 6x16 feet, and ten feet high, 
are placed about twenty feet apart in the 
river. These are connected with each 
other and with the shore by four round 
"sleepers" to each span. The bridge is 
then floored with split slabs, or puncheons. 
The banks of the river were about as high 
as the cribs. 

After crossing this bridge the road runs 
across a bottom of about fifty or sixty 
yards, and then turns an oblique angle to 
the right, and keeps along the foot of the 



24 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

hill for awhile. A field fills up the bottom 
land between the road and the river, 
reaching down to the bridge. 

When we came to this bridge, my com- 
pany (C) was ordered to remain behind and 
guard it for half an hour, in order to let our 
stragglers get across, and then to burn it. 

These stragglers were men whose horses 
had failed in the run of the three days 
and nights since we started, till they 
couldn't keep up. 

Our company flanked out, and as soon as 
the rest of the command filed past, we dis- 
mounted. Number fours took our horses 
up around the turn in the road, about a 
quarter of a mile, and held them. 

This left us forty-oix men to guard and 

burn the bridge. Tom B was detailed 

to go to the top of the hill in the bar- 
rens, and stand picket. The rest of us 
pulled down ten or fifteen panels of rail- 
fence, and carried the rails onto the bridge 
for kindling, and built up a good fire on 
the ground to have plenty of brands to 
stick into it when the word should be 
given. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 25 

The memory of that night forms a clear, 
distinct picture. As our fire burned in the 
road, lighting up the bridge and shining 
against the trees, and throwing dark shad- 
ows on the muddy waters in the river, 
forty-five men stood and looked each other 
in the face. Not a solitary straggler had 
come to the bridge since we stopped. 
What did it mean? To the old soldier it 
meant that the sleepless foe was near. It 
might be a good time to think of home 
and friends, or we might — 

''Who goes there?" 

''Who the — are you?'' 

Bang! Bang! 

It was Tom's challenge, and the answer 
left no doubt as to who was challenged. 
One bullet went singing to the north, the 
other buried itself in the bridge at our 
feet. Tom came down the hill double- 
quick. He did not know whether he hit 
his man or not. 

We stuck our fire among the rails and 
retreated to the bend in the road. Just 
around the turn the road was washed out 
into a kind of ditch, and by lying down 



26 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

ill it, we had a full sweep of the bridge 
through the bottom crack of the rail- 
fence. Here we halted to watch our fire 
till it would get beyond the possibility 
of being put out. 

For a few minutes all was still. Our fire 
was beginning to take hold of the bridge, 
and we were thinking of running for our 
horses, when suddenly a sheet of flame 
flashed out of the brush for a quarter of a 
mile up the river, followed by a tremen- 
dous crash. 

They had crept up and formed in silence, 
and were pouring a deadly fire into the 
thicket that lined the south bank. After a 
few rounds and no reply, we heard the 
command: 

''Onto the bridge and throw off that 
fire. Quick!" 

About a hundred men came out of the 
brush and crowded onto the bridge. 

We lay in that ditch, and thrust the 
muzzles of our guns through the lowest 
crack in the fence. They were in a strong 
light. We waited until the bridge was 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 27 

full, and the foremost man had reached 
the fire and began to throw off the rails. 
Then we let them have it. The range was 
a])ont seventy-five yards. Some fell on the 
bridge, some went over its sides into the 
river, and some retreated. We cleared 
the bridge; nobody could stand our well- 
directed fire. We drew their fire toward 
us. A shower of balls battered against the 
fence, and as many passed over us, but 
we were not hit. We never attempted to 
answer their fire; but whenever a man 
showed himself about the bridge, we 
plugged him. 

The fire got under good headway, and 
we slipped up that ditch and ran to our 
horses, mounted, and made our best speed 
to overtake our command. We caught up 
just as morning began to dawn. As soon 
as it was light we halted to feed; but be- 
fore our horses were half done eating, the 
rebels were upon us again. Knowing the 
country better than we did, they had cross- 
ed the river at another place, and dashed 
on to cut us off from Chattahoochee. 

We tried to make a stand, but they out- 



28 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

numbered us, and flanked us, and we were 
forced to save ourselves by flight. 

We came into the neighborhood of New- 
man, and found that eight thousand in- 
fantry were there prepared to receive 
us. With these fresh troops before us and 
Wheeler's cavalry behind us, we found 
ourselves in a fix. But worn out as we 
and our horses were, we charged, and 
fought our way to the right, and would 
have reached the Chattahoochee if we 
could have found a road. 

By this time we were demoralized. We 
had all lost confidence in McCook. J don't 
believe there was a man in the brigade 
that would have paid any attention to 
him after we passed Newman. But curses, 
bitter and deep, were heaped on him on 
all sides. 

We broke up into squads, following our 
own regimental or company commanders, 
or, still worse, two or three old comrades 
swearing to live or die together, and going 
on their own hook. 

A good many of us stuck to Lieut.-Col. 
Kelley, and rode through the woods till we 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 29 

got into a piece of swampy ground near 
the river, where our horses mired. We 
dismounted. There I parted from Bomb- 
shell; a better mare never grew upon Ken- 
tucky bluegrass. We had fared together 
for a thousand miles, had drank and bathed 
in a hundred rivers. She had never known 
any other master, and I was more partner 
than master. 1 hope she died in that 
swamp, and that no Johnnie ever had her 
to show as a trophy of that chase, or rode 
her against that flag she had followed so 
long. Alas! poor Bombshell! She did not 
fully understand all the questions involved 
in the war, but she was a true soldier. 

Leaving our horses, we tried to get to 
the river on foot, intending to swim it and 
escape, if possible. But as we came out of 
the jungle, we fronted a battalion of cav- 
alry. Their guns were aimed. 

"Halt!" 

We threw up our hands, and they rode 
down on us to receive our arms. 

We had in Company A of our regiment 
a man who deserted the rebels at the bat- 
tle of Perryville, and enlisted with us. As 



30 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

the rebs came down, he recognized his old 
comrades, and knowing he would be shot 
anyway, he resolved to sell his life for all 
it would bring. So, as they came up, he 
shot the Major through the heart, killing 
him at once. The next instant he fell 
among us riddled with balls, and his rash 
deed came near causing the death of every 
one of us. 

"Kill every ■ !" cried 

a rebel officer in excitement. 

Just then we saw Wheeler and staff, and 
called to him. The Johnnies pointed to 
their dead officer and claimed treachery. 
But the General ordered them to guard us 
as prisoners, and not to shoot any one who 
surrendered. 

They took charge of us. 

"Give me that gun." I handed it up. 
"Give me your cartridge-box." "Here it 
is." " Give me that poncho — give me that 
blanket." 

I think the troop that captured us was a 
battalion of the Third Texas Cavalry. 



CHAPTER III. 



TAKEN TO ANDERSONVILLE. 

There were fifty or sixty of us together 
when captured in the edge of the swamp. 
After disarming us we were taken a short 
distance to a road. Here we were halted 
and guarded, while the rebs scoured the 
woods and continued the pursuit. The re- 
port of firearms was heard far and near, 
and every little while a squad of prisoners 
would be added to our company, till we 
numbered over three hundred, when they 
started us toward Newman. 

By talking together we learned much 
of the extent of our disaster. We learned 
(31) 



32 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

from some of Brownlow's men that he 
had crossed the Chattahoochee, swimming 
his horse; a few of his men gotacross with 
him, a number were shot in the river, and 
those who told me the story were cap- 
tured on the east bank. This Col. Brown- 
low was a son of the famous old Parson of 
East Tennessee. He had a good deal of the 
Old Parson in him, and owing to certain 
deeds performed in former raids in his own 
country, he knew it was best for him to 
keep out of rebel hands. I was glad to 
learn afterwards that he succeeded in 
reaching our lines, much to their dis- 
appointment. 

The troops who were guarding us were 
Texans, and did not scruple to rob us of 
any private property that caught their eye. 
Our ponchos were in demand. Then they 
robbed most of us of our canteens. Of 
course we gave them up under protest. 
None but an old soldier can appreciate 
our loss in these. We also swapped hats 
and boots with them, utterly destroying 
our faith in the old maxim that "it takes 
two to make a bargain." 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 33 

My boots were too small for any that 
tried them, and 1 was allowed to keep 
them; but my neat, soft felt hat of the 
Burnside pattern, was lifted off my head 
by a long-haired fellow, who gave me in 
exchange his C. S. regulation tile. Every 
old soldier remembers the old white hats 
that we found scattered over every battle- 
field and camp ground out of which we 
chased the Johnnies, from the Ohio River 
to the Gulf of Mexico. 

To the reader who was not in the army I 
will say, the hat that I received w^as made 
of white wool, felted about a quarter of an 
inch thick, and when I got it it was a light 
gray color, and was about the size and 
shape of an old washpan. I wore it to 
prison, and for many long months it served 
me for a shelter from the hot sun, for a 
cushion to sit on when the sand was too 
hot to be comfortable, and for a pillow at 
night. After sitting around in the rain all 
day, I think it would have weighed five 
pounds. 

When they got ready to start toward 
Newman, we were marched along the road 
3 



34 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

in four ranks, with Rebels to right of us ^ 
Rebels to left of us, Rebels in front of us — 
it spoils the poetry — Rebels behind us. 

They rode. We walked. It was hot and 
dusty. Remember we had been in the 
saddle both the preceding nights, and were 
tired and sleepy. 

As we passed a house one of the rebel 
officers called at the gate for a drink of 
water. A nice-looking lady came out, ac- 
companied by a black girl who bore the 
pitcher. She gave him and two or three 
others a drink, and the}^ gave her a boast- 
ful account of how they had scooped us. 
She then turned toward us and our guard, 
and with a pleasant smile asked, " Would 
any of you soldiers like a drink?" One of 
our boys said, '^ Madam, I would like a 
drink, please." The smile faded out and a 
look of contempt took its place, as she 
answered, '^Yoii low-jlmujj thiec'nig Yank — 
ivoiild I give you a drink ? Not unless it 
had strychnine in it. You ought to he hung^ 
every one of you!" 

I write this incident because it helps to 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 35 

show the feeling of the South toward the 
Union army. 

We got to Newman about the middle of 
the afternoon, and were put in an old cot- 
ton warehouse and closely guarded. When 
we entered that warehouse we found four 
or five hundred of our comrades already 
in. Our greetings were not joyous, the 
usual form being, ''Tr/^(7^? You, too! I was 
in hopes you had escaped." 

They kept adding to our numbers till 
night, and by that time a majority of the 
command that left Sherman's lines four 
days before was in the hands of the enemy. 
And what added to the bitterness of our 
capture was that we felt that it was due 
to the incompetence of our leader. 

They kept us at Newman that night and 
the next day while they mended the rail- 
road at Palmetto. As soon as they could 
get a train through they moved us to East 
Point, a junction only six miles from At- 
lanta. Here we lay one night and day, in 
hearing of Sherman's guns. From there 
we were taken to Andersonville, arriving 
there about noon, August 2d. 



36 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE, 

Ahdersonville is a small town on the 
Macon & S. W. R. K At that time it did 
not contain over a dozen houses, and most 
of these were poor shanties. There were 
only two or three respectable residences. 
There was one store, kept in part of the 
depot building, and a cotton warehouse. 
The cotton warehouse is to a Georgia rail- 
road station what the grain elevator is in 
Iowa. The town was built in a pine forest, 
many of the stumps and a few of the trees 
still remaining in the streets and yards, 
and the woods encroaching on it at almost 
every point. 

A little brook ran through the town, fur- 
nishing a natural sewer for its filth and 
offal. Just east of the village was the rebel 
camp of three or four thousand troops, 
mostly Greorgia militia, composed of men 
too old and boys too young for field ser- 
vice. These were the prison guard. 

Still farther to the east, about half a 
mile from the station, was the pen, called 
by the rebs " Sumter iwison,'^ but known 
all over the North as Andersonville Prison 
Pen. This pen was about fifty rods long 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 87 

and thirty-six wide. It lay across the same 
brook that ran through the vilhige and the 
rebel camp. The stream ran to the east. 
It divided the pen into two parts, known 
to us as ''North side" and ''South side." 
North side contained aliout seven and a half 
acres, South side about three and a half. 

The prison wall was of hewn timber, 
placed on end six feet in the ground, and 
extending twelve feet aliove ground —mak- 
ing a solid wall eight inches thick. Near 
the top of this wall, on the outside, were 
platforms, or sentry-boxes, with sheds built 
over them to keep off the sun and rain, so 
that the guard had a coinfortal)le place in 
which to stand and watch what was go- 
ing on in the pen. There were about fifty 
of these boxes around the stockade. 

There were two gates, a "north" and 
a "south" gate, both on the west side of 
the pen. Here again north and south have 
reference to sides of the brook. These 
gates were small stockade pens, about 
thirty feet square, with heav}^ doors, open- 
ing into the prison on one side and out- 
side on the other. If the inner door was 



'38 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

opened the outer door was always shut, 
and vice versa. 

There was another wall outside the one 
I have named, about two hundred feet from 
it, running part way round. This outer 
wall was not continuous, but had large 
openings in it, in Avhich artillery was 
placed in such position that they could 
rake the prison with grape or shell if they 
so desired. 

From the north side, by looking over 
the stockade where it crossed the hollow, 
we could see Wirtz's headquarters above, 
and our hospital below. From the south 
side, in looking over the same way, we 
could see the quarters of a pack of blood 
hounds, "the old Redfield," and a part 
of the town. 



EXPLANATION OF STOCKADE. 

(See next page.) 

1 Stockade. 10 & 11. Outer Stockades. 

2 "Dead Line," 12. Eaktuwork Foktifications. 
8. Brook. Vi. Location of Hospital. 

4 Swamp. 14. Place where the Sur- 
^'. Rebel Suttlers. geons prescribed for the 

H. Bake-house for Corn-bread. sick and admitted to the 

8 & Vt. Entrances. Hospital. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 39 

IN 




PLAN OF STOCKADE. 



CHAPTER IV, 



STRIPPED AND TURNED IN. 

In my last I gave you a general descrip- 
tion of the Anclersonville pen. The guard 
who took us from East Point to the prison 
were Tennessee soldiers^ — Ninth Tennessee 
Infantry, I think. They were old soldiers, 
and they treated us well. 

I noticed while in the army, and have 
marked it since, that soldiers who were in 
the front, on either side, respect each other; 
while the post guards and others who are 
always in the rear of the real battle line, 
have a great contempt for the prowess of 

the enemy. 

(40) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 41 

When our train came to a stop at the 
Anderson ville depot, we saw about twenty 
men, dressed in what had once passed for 
Confederate uniforms, but so ragged and 
dirty as to be past recognition. They were 
loading wagons, and occasionally one of 
them passed close to the train. They 
never looked at us, but as they passed 
close by they were repeating over and 
over, as though they would forget it, this 
song: "If you have any money, hide it. 
If you have any valual)les, hide them/' 

We took it as a sign and acted on it. 
Some ripped a small hole and slipped 
money in the hems and collars of l)louses, 
some in boots— every safe place you could 
think of. I had one ten-dollar bill. I fold- 
ed it small, peeled off the outside leaf of a 
plug of "Ole Verginny," wrapped it care- 
fully around my bill, and laid it in my 
cheek. I didn't chew that quid veiy vigor- 
ously. 

As the rebs had to detail a guard of mil- 
itia after we got there, we had ample time 
for all this hiding, and our Tennessee 
guards paid no attention to our efforts. 



42 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

About two o'clock the guard came and . 
took us off the cars. They marched us 
through the rebel camp, and about half 
way between it and the pen, on a slopmg 
plain of bright yellow sand, they halted us 
and opened us into single ranks. After 
waiting awhile here, the sun roasting our 
heads and the sand stewing our feet, old 
Wirtz came out with a squad of men to 
search us. This was my first view of that 
notorious Switzer. He was dressed in a 
suit of white duck, with a Panama hat, and 
riding a white horse. 

He rode down our lines and cursed us 
for being raiders; then gave his commands 
so that all could hear: 

" If any man stoops down, or sits down, 
or tries to hide any thing, shoot him !" 

^' Strip 'im! Take el^eryting he got! I 
I make 'im tink it is hell!" 

I would not write this last sentence if I 
thought there was anything profane about 
it; but after a few month's suffering in that 
horrid pen, I concluded the old Dutchman 
had not even used the hyperl)olo, but had 
simply stated a fact in strong language. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 48 

Two large boxes were brought to put the 
plunder iu, and the search was begun. 
They made us take off all our clothes and 
lay them out in front of us, and stand there 
naked while they searched them. They 
turned all the pockets, then felt all the 
seams and hems, and if they felt a lump, 
they would throw that garment on their 
pile. They took and kept all watches, 
rings, knives, money, pipes, and even pic- 
tures of wives and sweethearts. One boy 
tried to make out that he could not get his 
ring off. 

'*If te ring no come off, take ie finger^'' 
said Wirtz. 

After they were satisfied with their ex- 
amination, they would throw back such 
garments as they allowed us to have. If 
we had any extras about our clothes they 
kept them. I went through and retained 
shirt, blouse and pants. My blouse and 
pants were pretty good, my shirt was well 
worn. They kept my boots, but allowed 
me the hat I received of the Texan. 

I learned afterwards that they did not al- 
ways strip prisoners quite so closely as they 



44 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

did us. A whole brigade, captured at Ply- 
moutli, N. C, and called l^y the other pris- 
oners, " Plymouth pilgrims," came into the 
pen with their blankets and overcoats. 
Their good luck was exceptional. The 
Western troops were stripped worse than 
the Eastern, and cavahy worse than in- 
fantry. Their excuse for this was that the 
Western cavalry was always raiding and 
destroying their propertj'. 

After being searched, we were taken to 
the north gate; a door was opened in the 
gate-pen (a kind of ante-room, thirty feet 
square), and ninety men were crowded into 
it. The door was then closed, and another 
door was opened into the prison, and we 
were counted again as we passed through. 
Then a new ninety w^ere let in and counted 
through, and so on to the end. I never 
knew why they kept us in nineties, but 
they did. Each ninety was counted every 
day, and we drew rations from that count. 

Thus we entered Andersonville prison. 
Remember it was about thirty-six by fifty 
rods, containing about eleven acres, with a 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 45 

wall twelve feet high around it, and a little 
brook running through it. 

About twenty feet from the wall, ran a 
row of stakes with a slender rail tacked on 
them; this was the ''deadline." In some 
places the rail had been knocked off, and 
only the stakes marked the boundary be- 
tween life and death; for if any one crossed 
the line, he was shot without warning. 

This leads me to make a remark on the 
"dead-lines," which were common to all 
Southern prisons. Sometimes this line was, 
as at Andersonville, within a stockade, and 
the guard were stationed upon the wall up- 
on the alert to pick off any unfortunate who 
was so incautious as to step over. In some 
cases the prisons were temporary, and had 
not even a stockade. A rope was drawn; 
and if any prisoner, for the sake of wood, 
water, or any other cause, stepped beyond 
it, an instantaneous shot warned all others 
to beware of his untimely fate. 

When our command got in, there were 
thu'tij -three thousand men in that pen! Can 
you realize that fact? Take the entire pop- 
ulation of two average counties in Iowa 



46 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 




PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 47 

or Illinois, and crowd them onto eleven 
acres, and you have not enough then. Re- 
duce it, and you find that you have about 
eighteen men to the square rod. Some of 
these men had a little shelter of their own 
providing. Some took two sticks about 
four feet long, stuck them in the ground 
about six feet apart, fixed a little pole from 
one to the other, fastened one edge of a 
blanket to the pole, and, drawing the other 
edge back till it was straight, piled sand 
enough on it to hold it, or took wooden pins 
and pinned it to the ground. 

Such a tent, or shade, answ^ered for four 
men. I have known six to occupy one. Of 
course they could not all lie down under it, 
but they could all squat under it to keep 
off the sunshine. If a party had no blanket, 
they could sometimes make a substitute by 
ripping up pants, shirts, jackets, etc., and 
sewing them together. These garments 
were obtained by stripping the dead. 

If a man had mone}^, he could buy sacks 
(made of strong, coarse cotton cloth) of the 
quartermaster who issued our rations. At 
the time of our capture, sacks two feet 



48 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

wide and three feet long cost two dollars 
each in greenbacks, or eight in confed. 
Thread to sew with was obtained by ravel- 
ing ont a piece of sack. Sometimes we 
drew rations in these sacks, and could keep 
them until ration time the next day. When 
this was the case, we were bound to return 
the sack or lose our next ration; but we 
could cut off the bottom of it two or three 
inches and not be detected, if we sewed it 
up as it had been. These strips furnished 
thread for the ninety. 

About two hundred prisoners were de- 
tailed outside, on parole, to help handle 
rations, to cook, and to dig trenches to 
Iniry in, etc. It was they who warned us 
to hide our money at the depot. They slept 
in the gate, or ante-room, of nights — at 
least part of them did. Through them we 
obtained the stakes and poles to put up our 
meager tents. When the inside door would 
be opened of a morning, they would pitch 
them in beyond the dead-line to their 
friends. If you had no friend out on parole, 
the set, two stakes four feet long, and a pole 
six feet long, would cost you fifty cents. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 49 

The " Plymouth pilgrims " nearly all had 
blanket tents, such as I have described, and 
a good many others had something that 
would at least partly keep the sun off; but 
the majority of that vast crowd had no 
shelter of any kind. They entered there 
i^f ripped and robbed. The dew beaded their 
hair and beard at night, and they sweltered 
under that burning sun, and groveled in 
that roasting sand by day. What had tJiei/ 
done ? Answered their coimtry^s call, and fol- 
lowed its flag. 



CHAPTER V. 



HORRIBLE. 



All the space was claimed and occupied 
before we got there. Just imagine one or 
two of those half-faced tents on every 
square rod, and ten or twelve men without 
shelter claiming room on the same. 

Some one claimed every foot. The first 
few nights we just dropped down wherever 
we could find room enough, and refused to 
move for threats, curses, or lice, and we 
certainly had full rations of each. 

Four of us determined to stick together, 
and after hunting two or three days we 
found a place six feet square, about the 
(50) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 51 

middle of the south side. Five men had 
owned it, bnt three were dead, and the 
other two were willing to vacate for a small 
consideration. We bought three sacks and 
made us a shelter. It took a week to get 
used to the horrid place. 

During this crowded period we drew 
cooked rations. Our bread was made of un- 
sifted meal and water, without salt, or any- 
thing to lighten it; baked in large sheets 
about two inches thick. When cut up into 
single rations, each man received a piece 
about two by three inches, and as thick as 
the sheet or loaf. In addition to this, we 
received about half a pint of cooked beans 
or peas. They were raised in the South to 
feed slaves, and were called the "nigger 
peas," but I think they are really a species 
of coarse black bean. There is one thing in 
favor of the '* Pea " theory, how^ever. They 
were almost invarialdy full of bugs, and as 
issued to us, the bugs were the only season- 
ing they had. Once in a while a small 
ration of rice was given in place of the 
beans. About twice a week we received a 
small ration of meat. If pork, about one 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. ^^^ 

ounce per man; if beef^ about two ounces. 
Sometimes in place of the meat, we drew 
about two spoonfuls of molasses per man. 

We drew our rations from two to three 
o'clock p. M. Whatever we got we ate at 
once, and then fasted until that hour the 
next day. We were hungry all the time, — 
even just after we had eaten. This hunger 
colored our conversation. Drop into a 
group of talkers, and you would hear some 
one describing a feast he had enjoyed; or 
drawing on his imagination for one he in- 
tended to order, if he ever got out alive. 
One poor boy who lay near us would wind 
up every such talk with: ''Fried pork, sau- 
sage, and pancakes is good enough for me." 
Even in our sleep we were not free ; but our 
rest was full of dreams of loaded tables, 
with always something to prevent us from 
partaking of their viands, till we would 
wake up. Like the old toper who dreamed 
he had a pint of whisky, and thought to 
make a hot punch, but while his water was 
heating he woke up. He turned over, 
smacked his lips, and remarked: "What a 
fool I w^as not to drink that cold!" 



54 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE« 

At least two-thirds of the men were sick. 
Half of them had diarrhea, and our coarse 
rations aggravated the disease. Among the 
older prisoners scurvy was common. About 
live thousand men were past helping them- 
selves. They were lying all over the pen, 
many of them half naked, under a burning 
sun, and stinking in their filth. They could 
not help it, poor boys; and we could do 
nothing for them. We had no means. The 
whole camp literally swarmed with vermin. 
The sand was full of fleas, all alive with 
them. Lice crawled every-where. Flies 
swarmed in myriads. Blow-flies were upon 
the helpless, the dying and the dead. When 
the sun Avent down mosquitoes came in 
clouds from the swamps below. One mercy 
amid this woe, was that, soon after a man 
became too weak to help himself he gen- 
erally became unconscious. 

As soon as a man was dead he was car- 
ried to the south gate. At first they had a 
shed made of brush outside of the stockade, 
and the dead were carried out there. But 
one day an old scurvy skeleton played dead, 
and w^as carried out and laid with the rest. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE, 55 

He watched his chance and tried to crawl 
off and escape, but was caught and brought 
back. After that there was no more carry- 
ing outside, but we piled them up by the 
dead-line at the south gate. 

We had a rule that whoever carried out a 
corpse should have what was on it. That 
looks bad, but it was all the chance to keep 
the living from going naked. The average 
mortality during August was one hundred 
and thirty per day. 

Every forenoon lay at the south gate that 
hundred and thirty naked, haggard, and 
horribly discolored bodies, putrifying in the 
sun. It was a sight to sicken the stoutest. 
About ten or eleven o'clock they would 
come in with a wagon and pile those corpses 
into it, like cord-wood, and haul them to 
the old red field, where they were laid side 
by side in a long trench. After noon that 
same wagon would bring in our rations. 

The little brook flowed with a gentle cur- 
rent three or four feet wide and four inches 
deep. Just below the dead-line, where it 
entered, we had a place scraped out eight 
feet wide, by twenty long, and nearly two 



5G PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE, 

deep. We kept that pool as clean as we 
could, to drink from. It was not clean even 
then, as the filth of the town and rebel 
camp washed into it from above. Below 
this were a number of circular pools ten or 
twelve feet in diameter, and two feet deep 
in the center, to wash in. There was al- 
ways a crowd about these pools, from early 
morning till late at night, and yet I believe 
half the men in that pen never washed at 
all. So many were discouraged by their 
afflictions, and losing all hope, lost decency 
and self-respect with it, and laid down in 
their filth and died. 

Near the brook, on each side, were a good 
many holes, or shallow wells, dug down to 
its level. The water in these, being filtered 
through the sand, was thought to be purer 
than the lu'ook water, though none of it 
was good. 

Below the wash pools, which did not ex- 
tend half way down, this little l)rook be- 
came the privy sink for the whole camp. I 
have studied for a week how I might write 
a description of our sufferings and leave 
tliis out: but my chapter of horrors would 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE, 57 

not be complete without it. Thirty thou- 
sand men, most of them sick, had to use 
about one hundred yards of this In-anch. 
Graduall}^ the filth clogged up the opening 
in the stockade, making a dam. As filth 
accumulated it rose and spread out over 
the banks, until it became three or four 
feet deep — ^spread forty feet wide, and back- 
ed up the stream seventy-five yards — ^mak- 
ing in our midst a lake, the horror of which 
made other troubles seem light by com- 
parison. It was worked over and over by 
masses of great slimy maggots an inch 
long. The sun pouring his heat into it all 
day generating poisonous gases. At night 
the damp air Avas loaded with a stench that 
cried to heaven for vengeance. It became 
so poisonous that if any one having a sore, 
if only a mosquito bite, should by accident 
step into the nasty mass, it would cause 
gangrene. 

I have seen men, weak and sick, stagger 
down to that place during the hot pai't of 
the day. The foul odors and the heat would 
overcome them, and they would faint and 
fall into the reeking mass. Some one would 



58 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE, 

drag them out onto the dry ground, and 
they would lie there and die in the filth, 
those great slimy maggots crawling over 
them, even in their nostrils and mouths be- 
fore they were dead. I saw five men die 
thus in one day. 

If I alone knew these things I would be 
afraid to tell them. They would be hard to 
believe. But the survivors of that prison 
are scattered all over the North. Many of 
them are men of known character. Ask 
any of them if I have exaggerated or even 
colored this description. They will tell 
you, No' 



CHAPTER VI. 



PROVIDENCE. 



"How did you spend your time?" 
For a while we could hold interesting 
chats. But we soon wore out all the inter- 
esting incidents of our lives, exhausted our 
supply of anecdotes and stories; and were 
left with nothing to talk of, except to de- 
scribe different dishes of food that we want- 
ed, or to curse the rebels for their treat- 
ment, and to grumble at our Government 
for not exchanging us. These were stand- 
ard themes; they could be repeated, in the 
same words, every day in the month, and 
(59) 



60 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE, 

every hour in the day, and always be in- 
teresting. 

Among all those crowds a good laugh was 
seldom heard. Our gayest, j oiliest soldiers 
soon became gloomy and silent; and wit 
and humor took on the morbid form of say- 
ing grotesque and horrid things about our 
misfortunes. 

The stud}^ of human nature there would 
fill with sadness any who love the race. 
The best elements seemed to die, and the 
worst held high carnival in our souls. Men 
were brutal, selfish, cross and mean to each 
other. The strongest struggled for life, and 
the weak died without pity. A dying man 
might ask a dozen for a drink before he 
would find one to bring it to him, unless he 
had comrades who had known him before 
he got into the pen. Of course there were 
a few exceptions. Too few. Yet these men 
were not Modocs, nor Australian bushmen. 
Some of them l)elonged to the rough classes, 
but many were refined, cultivated gentle- 
men, the light of the social circle, the pride 
of an enlightened home. But they were 
treated by their foes worse than brntes 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 61 

Their own Government refnsed to exchange, 
and al:)andoned them, and they Ijecame des- 
jDerate. 

Time dragged heavily. Nothing to do; 
nothing to read. Some whiled away the 
hours playing chess. "Where did yon get 
chessboards and menr' We marked ont a 
place on the gronnd for a board, and made 
onr set of men by notching sticks so that 
we wonld know them. When we moved a 
piece, we stuck it in the ground so it would 
stand. I learned this fascinating game with 
such a set. Though there were a few who 
had boards of their own making. 

There were church privileges for those 
who wanted them. That is, there w^ere four 
or five places where these ragged, scurvied, 
filthy, vermin-eaten wretches met twice a 
week and tried to worship God. They were 
generally informal social meetings. They 
sang old-fashioned hymns, like ''0 thou 
fount," or ''Rock of Ages," — hymns that 
are as much a ^Dart of our civilization as 
the steam engine is. They squatted on the 
ground, and slapped mosquitoes, and 
scratched, while one of their number read 



62 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

a portion of the Scripture, led in prayer, or 
gave an exhortation. 

About ten or fifteen took active part, but 
they usually had a large audience of re- 
spectful listeners. At one place, on the 
south side, near my quarters, I think the 
average audience would number one thou- 
sand. I used to frequently attend as a lis- 
tener. There was no attempt to preach any 
doctrine except faith in God. The Scripture 
lessons were usually from Psalms, and some 
of David's prayers for his enemies sounded 
so much like cursing the rebels that even 
the carnal-minded could say 'Amen.'' 

While writing of the religious exercises, 
I will not omit the ministry of a Catholic 
priest. He visited the prison regularly, giv- 
ing the consolations of his church to the 
sick, shriving the dying, and sprinkling 
holy water on the dead. He was willing to 
talk to any one who cared for religious con- 
versation. He seemed very industrious and 
earnest in his work. 

Suppose that of the thirteen thousand 
buried in that old field, there will be one 
who will at last arise justified through 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 63 

Christ. And suppose that the judgment 
shall be as Jesus described it. If so, of all 
the ministers in Georgia, accessible to An- 
dersonville, only one could hear this sen- 
tence, "I was sick and in prison and ye vis- 
ited me," and that one is a Catholic. 

Protestant churches may warn us of the 
danger of the Papal power, but till some of 
us learn this lesson of visiting the prisons, 
the hospitals, the plague-stricken and the 
outcast, we will never lead the masses away 
from Catholicism. 

During August we had several thunder 
showers. But there is one that in Ander- 
sonville history will always stand alone as 
eminently ^'the storm." 

About the last of the month (I had no 
way to keep dates and can't remember them 
exactly), it came up suddenly, about mid- 
day, accompanied by vivid lightning and 
loud thunder, and a rain-fall such as is call- 
ed the bursting of a water-spout. With the 
first dash, we were drenched. In a few 
minutes the ground was covered with 
water, and great streams were rushing 
down the hillsides, washing deep gullies 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 65 

through our beds, and in other places al- 
most burying the helpless in sand and 
water. And still it rained. The lightning 
seemed to dance over the ground, and the 
thunder roared like a park of artillery. 
The brook began to raise, and was soon too 
large to get through the vents made for it 
in the stockade. It dammed up at both 
walls till it almost reached the top. The 
upper wall gave way, and a flood eight or 
ten feet deep and fifty wide was rushing 
through tho pen. When it struck the lower 
wall, it, too, fell with a crash. A hundred 
brave men rushed into the boiling flood to 
ride out on it. A shell from the battery 
fizzed over our heads. The long roll sound- 
ed, and the whole guard rushed to the open- 
ings, and stood in the rain along that rush- 
ing stream with fixed bayonets, to keep us 
in. The storm finally spent itself. Clouds 
rolled away. The sun came out. The an- 
gry waters subsided. The rebs went to 
work to repair the w^alls. 

'^What of it?" That reeking, pestilential 
lake of filth, that I described in the last 
chapter, was gone. A sand-bar three or 



66 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

four feet deep was formed where part of it 
had been. The stream had formed a new 
channel for itself, and the rest of it was 
washed out to the very bottom. The whole 
camp was washed; the sand next day look- 
ed bright and clean every-where. But that 
was not all. 

Between the dead-line and the stockade, 
and about half-way between the north gate 
and the brook, there was a spring. It was 
noticed soon after the storm by some of the 
boys who lay near by; but they, knowing 
the ground had always been dry there, 
thought it was a kind of wet-weather spout, 
started into life by the big rain. But after 
a few days, seeing it did VA,i abate, they 
tied their cups to a tent-pole, and reaching 
over the dead-line, dipped and drank, and 
called it the best water in the pen. Others 
fixed dippers, and soon there was a goodly 
number there all the time, for a drink of 
the bright, pure water. 

At last some one showed it to the Quar- 
termaster who issued our rations, and in- 
terested him in the matter. He gave us 
boards and nails to make a ''V" trough, 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 67 

which we fixed in the spring, and In'ought 
the water inside the dead-line. 

It yielded about eight or ten gallons per 
minute of pure, sweet water — much better 
than could be found in the pen, even by 
digging for it, before; and till the prison 
was destroyed, in April, 1865, the flow never 
diminished. From earliest dawn till far 
into the night, a crowd was at the spout 
waiting turn to drink. 

The pious thanked God and took courage. 
The marvelous marveled. The rationalis- 
tic advanced two theories: first, the stream 
had always been there, just under the sur- 
face, and being overcharged during the 
storm, it burst through; second, a discliarge 
of lightning struck there and opened the 
way to a subterranean reservoir. Why? 
How? 

I care not if lightning or storm is his 
angel. God gave us drink! 



CHAPTER VII. 



WRECKED. 



We received very little reliable news 
from the outside world. When a squad of 
new prisoners were brought in they gave us 
the latest and most reliable news from the 
department of the army to which they be- 
longed. If the rebels won a victory any- 
where, the Quartermaster would bring in a 
paper at ration time, and read us the ac- 
count of it, and make us feel as bad as he 
could. The effect of these reports on the 
prisoners gave me a chance to study human 
nature. If he read a report of rebel success 
in the East, the prisoners from the army of 
(68) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 69 

the Potomac ^\eve filled with l)lue8 cind 
despondency. But if he read an Atlanta 
paper, that told of a victory in Sherman's 
department, the Western soldier, in tones 
of perfect contempt for the whole Confed- 
eracy, answ^ered, "Old Bill's leading for 
your Jack," or he dismissed the subject en- 
tirely with, ^'Ifs a rebel lieT 

I think the reason for this was that the 
Eastern army had been whipped so often 
that they had learned to expect it; while in 
Sherman's army, "to fight" and "to whip" 
were synonymous. 

Once in a while w^e got a fragment of 
news from the guard. They called the hour 
of the night and the number of their post, 
thus : 

"P-o-o-ost number one, ten o'clock, and 
a-a-all's right." " P-o-o-ost number two, ten 
o'clock, and a-all's right," all around the 
pen, every hour from dark till daylight. 
This call was made in a loud, sing-song- 
monotone, that could be heard all over the 
camp. Sometimes thej^ would interpolate 
a fragment, thus: 

"Post number eight, Lee's falling back, 



70 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

and all's well/' Or, '' Post number thirteen, 
twelve o'clock, and here's your mule." 

It was by this means that we first heard 
of the fall of Atlanta. For two weeks, we 
Western troops had been full of feverish 
excitement. That long ago we had read in 
the Atlanta paper that Sherman had raised 
the siege, and had fallen back across the 
Chattahoochee. Every day we begged for 
more news. The Quartermaster told us 
that their pickets had been advanced to the 
river, and Sherman was certainly gone. 
Scouts had been across, and reported no 
large body of troops this side of the Ken- 
esaw mountains, and Sherman was doubt- 
less in full retreat on Chattanooga. What 
could it mean? The rebels evidently be- 
lieved it, and were rejoicing; we didn't^ — we 
ivotddnH. Still, we were excited; we felt 
sure that ^^Old Billy"' was playing a deep 
game, but we wanted to see him ''rake the 
pot." 

Then came four or five days of oppressive 
silence — no news of any kind. We w^ere 
sure something was being done. But what? 
How restless and eager we became! 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 71 

One night the nine o'clock call was start- 
ed, and ran three posts as usual; but the 
next was called: 

"P-o-ost numbah f-o-a-h, nine o'clock, and 
Atlanta's gone to !" 

For one instant the camp was still. In 
the next, ''Did you J/ear that P" Then they 
cheered. Men got up all over the camp to 
discuss the news. The midnight call went 
round long before the camp got quiet again. 
What if we were hungry, ragged, filthy, 
and vermin-eaten? — we could be glad. At- 
lanta was gone! 

Early in September the rebs began to 
move prisoners away from Andersonville. 
They told us that they were taking us to 
Charleston to exchange us. But they had 
told us so many lies of that kind that most 
of the prisoners did not believe them. They 
took out two or three train-loads per week. 

Four or five train-loads had already gone, 

when one day Jess M (a kinsman of 

mine) came to me and said that his ''nine- 
ty" was ordered to be ready to go out that 
afternoon; and that I could go out with 
iiim, on a dead man's name, if I wanted to. 



72 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

I did not believe the exchange talk; but 
I did not suppose another pen would be any 
worse than the one we were in, and as Jess 
was my only accessible relative, and I loved 
him as if he were my brother, I decided to 
go with him. 

About four o'clock p. m., a heavy guard 
marched down to the south gate, and called 
for the detachments that had been notified 
that morning. Nine hundred and sixty 
men were taken out and marched to the de- 
pot. There we waited till sundown, when 
our train backed in. We were put in twelve 
box cars — cff/hfy men to a car! We could 
not sit or lie, Think of that! — and excuse 
it who can. Such cruelty is worthy of the 
period of slave ships, or the men who sailed 
them. 

Two days' rations of corn bread and ba- 
con w^ere put in each car; . three companies 
of guards were distributed over the train, 
most of them on top of the cars. The offi- 
cers that were detailed to go took the ca- 
boose, and the train started out just as twi- 
light deepened into night. 

Where vrre we going ? 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 73 

It was too dark to see to divide our ra- 
tions, so we had to let two or three men 
keep them till morning. We didn't like to, 
but couldn't help it. 

We ran six or seven miles, were running 
down grade in a cut, when, suddenly, the 
car seemed to be lifted several feet high, 
and dropped. It came down with a crash. 
Part of the timbers of the floor broke up- 
ward into the middle of the car, hurling its 
mass of living freight toward the ends. At 
the same time two corners were crushed in 
and two burst outward. For a few seconds 
there was a loud crashing of timber; then 
groans, shrieks and wails, and the noise of 
escaping steam, were the onl}^ sounds. 

As quick as I could think what had hap- 
pened, I found myself on top of a squirm- 
ing, writhing mass of men. A few strug- 
gles placed me at an opening made by the 
outward-bursted corner. I stuck my feet out 
first, crowded through, and dropped to the 
ground. I think I was the first man out of 
our car. The engine lay in the ditch, with 
its head buried in the bank. The first three 
cars lay over against the bank just behind 



74 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

it, and were not much damaged. The fourth 
(the one I was in) lay with one end against 
the rear of these, and the other end on the 
track; it having stopped the momentum of 
the train in that position was what crushed 
it in the peculiar manner described. The 
fifth was the worst wreck of all, the sixth 
having telescoped it from end to end. The 
forward end of the sixth was crushed in; 
the rest stood on the track undamaged. 

As soon as I felt solid ground beneath my 
feet, and realized that I was not seriously 
hurt — the guard were all in confusion and 
out of place — the thought came to me like 
an inspiration, "Now is the time to escape! 
Run for lifer 

I started on the impulse, almost without 
thinking. I rushed past the engine into the 
darkness. I must have run one hundred 
yards; I knew I was outside the guard. 
The moans of the dying and shrieks of the 
wounded sounded a good distance off. 

Then came the thought, '^ You are leaving 
Jess. He may be killed or crippled in the 
wreck." I hesitated — stopped short. I was 
not willing to go on without Jess, or at 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 75 

least a knowledge of his fate. I ran 
back. Men were getting out of all the cars. 
I reached ours, and called. He answered 
from under the car, and came out. 

"Jess, are you hurt?" 

'^No." 

I whispered in his ear, '' Let's run off." 

He answered, *'We couldn't get away. 
They would catch us." 

''Yes we can. There isn't a guard on 
duty." 

Well," said he, ''they will bring out the 
hounds in the morning, and track us up." 

''Xerermind the hounds!" 

I will say for the general reader, that sol- 
diers usually pronounced "never mind" as 
a w^ord of one syllable, accented all the 
way through. 

I was excited, nervous, vexed, impatient. 
I felt like every minute was worth a life- 
time. Jess was trying to get hold of the 
meat that had not been divided. That was 
what he was doing under the car when I 
came up. He seemed so indifferent, that I 
said to him: 

"If you won't go, I will go alone!" 



76 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

^'All right," said he; "wait a minute and 
ril get you a piece of meat.'' 

He went under the car and soon returned 
with a good x)iece of bacon. I took it and 
started. But alas! while I dallied with 
Jess, the guard recovered from its panic, 
and had formed a line around the wreck. 
Just below the engine I was halted and or- 
dered back. 

My disappointment was hard to bear. 
Oh, how I wished that I had kept on when 
1 was free, and had left Jess to his fate! 

I Avent back to the wreck, and went to 
work with all my might to help rescue the 
maimed and dead from the debris. We 
took out ninety-eight Yanks and twenty- 
four rebs, who were badly wounded, and 
twenty-six Yanks and eight rebs, dead; a 
total of thirty-four killed, and one hundred 
and twenty-two badly hurt. 

Such a disaster, in time of peace, would 
fill with horror the whole country; and yet 
I doubt if a score of our vast army of read- 
ers ever heard of this accident before. I 
am of the opinion that this is the first time 
the history of that wreck has ever been 
in print. 



CHAPTER YIII. 



PLANS OF ESCAPE. 



Eebels and Yanks worked together till 
the wounded were all out of the wreck, 
which was probably about midnight. We 
did not get all the dead out till daylight 
next morning. 

A construction train came down next 
morning, unloaded its gang of men, took up 
the wounded, and returned to Anderson- 
ville. It returned about noon, and after 
getting the debris out of the way, and get- 
ting all the cars that could be run on the 
track, they took us back to the pen. 

One of the smashed cars was covered with 
(77) 



78 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

a tin roof, of which I secured a piece about 
20x24 inches, and after getting into prison, 
I made me a nice pan, by turning up about 
four inches all around. It proved to be a 
very valuable piece of property after we 
began to draw our rations. 

When the train came back after taking 
the wounded, they brought the bloodhounds 
and took a circuit around the wreck before 
we left. This gave Jess the exquisite hap- 
piness of saying, ''I told you soT 

Of course, in such a crowd, there were al- 
ways men studying plans of escape. When 
the camp was new, aud only one stockade 
stood between the prisoner and freedom, 
there were many attempts to tunnel out. 
To do this required much caution and labor. 
A well was dug about eight or ten feet deep, 
and from the bottom of this a tunnel was 
run horizontally to pass under the wall, and 
then rise to the surface. The work had to 
be done by night, -and the hole kept hid by 
day. The best tools that we could obtain 
were a case-knife and half of an unsoldered 
canteen for digging, and a haversack to 
carry out the dirt. A good substitute for 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 79 

the haversack, and one often used, was a 
pants-leg tied up at one end. To prevent 
caving in, the hole was made as small as 
possible — I think about twenty inches in 
diameter, just large enough for a man to 
crawl through. 

After a tunnel was well under way, a 
man with such an outfit, with two strings 
to his sack as long as the tunnel, would, by 
feet and elbows, work his way to the end 
of the hole, pick the dirt loose with his 
knife, and with the half canteen scrape it 
into the sack ; then a comrade at the mouth 
would pull the sack along by one string, he 
keeping the end of the other to pull it back. 
A third man would take the dirt away in 
another sack, pants-leg or blouse-sleeve, 
and scatter it where it would not be no- 
ticed. 

A man could hardly get his breath in the 
tunnel; and owing to the sandy nature of 
the ground, there was always danger of 
caving in. 

It was hard to keep it secret, for there 
were men in the pen mean enough to tell 
the rebels of any such attempt. There was 



80 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

a fellow (he died at Savannah) who wore a 
large "T" on his forehead. He informed 
on a tunnel company when they were near 
ly through, and they made the ^' T " with a 
hot railroad spike. After that, when a 
sneak reported on his fellow-prisoners, the 
rebs took him out of the pen, and we saw 
him no more. 

If all these dangers and difficulties were 
surmounted, and the tunnel was opened, 
the rebs would find the hole the next day, 
and start the bloodhounds from it. 

Oh, those hounds! How we dreaded 
them ! Let the beasts once catch the scent 
of a poor fugitive, and he was "gone up." 

After the outer stockade was built, it 
greatly increased the difficulty of tunnel- 
ing, as it would require a length of about 
two hundred and twenty-five feet to safely 
pass under both walls. Still there were 
men desperate enough to attempt it. 

One company, after weeks of toil and 
danger, on a rainy night in August, opened 
their hole, and crawled to the outer world. 
I think .there were fifteen or twenty went 
through, though there were so many con- 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 81 

flicting reports that I do not pretend to 
give exact nunibers. 

The gang of Johnnies that came every 
morning to count the nineties, found the 
deficit and reported it. We were notified 
from headquarters that we would get no 
rations till those men were found. We did 
not believe it; we thought it was done to 
scare us We only got one scanty little 
feed each day anyhow, and we didn't think 
we could live if we missed that. As the 
hour when they fed us drew near, thousands 
of hungry men watched the gate. The hour 
passed. What terrible suspense as the next 
hour dragged along! Slowly the sun went 
down behind the dark pines. I thought I 
would try to describe our feelings as that 
day went out; but I can't. I shall not try 
it. I have no words. I give you the bare 
fact — thirty thousand men, already in a 
starving condition, fasted forty-eight hours 
to gratify the malice of those officers, be- 
cause fifteen or twenty men had outwitted 
them. 

The next day they were brought back, 
6 



82 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

some of them badly torn and mangled by 
the bloodhounds. 

There were some other plans of escape 
tried, but they were almost invariably fail- 
ures, and are not worth mention. I did re- 
fer to one — the man who was taken out as 
dead. 

There was a drummer boy, whose smooth 
face and childish voice called for sympathy. 
He was rapidly wasting away, and his 
friends were anxious to save him. The 
beans w^ere brought in barrels, which were 
set on the ground to be emptied, and the 
empty barrels taken out in the last wagon 
that came in. One day a barrel was turned 
over on its side to scrape out all the beans; 
the boy squatted at its mouth, and when 
the Quartermaster's back was turned, it was 
turned bottom-upward over him. When 
the last load came in, two men set that 
barrel up in the wagon without turning it 
over. The boy got out all right, but was 
caught and brought back next day. He 
didn't last long after that. Three or four 
weeks later, he was put in a wagon at the 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 83 

other gate. That time we knew that he 
would never be sent back. 

My experience the night of the wreck set 
me thinking. I knew it was next to impos- 
sible to get away from the pen. But they 
would probably ship more prisoners away. 
Could a man jump from a train and escape? 
I believed it could be done. That thought 
once in my mind, stayed there. 

I hunted up several men who, at sundry 
times and in divers manners, had tried to 
reach our lines and failed. From them I 
learned of the dangers to be encountered 
after getting out. 

The South lived in a constant dread of a 
slave insurrection, and to guard against it 
the whole country was kept under vigilant 
surveillance. 

If a stranger was seen, he was at once ar- 
rested, and made to account for himself. 
At night the roads were all patrolled by 
mounted provost guards. A man to be 
safe, would have to keep well hid by day, 
and keep away from all traveled roads at 
night. To travel four or five hundred miles 
and comply with these conditions is a big- 



84 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

ger job than it looks to be till you have 
worked at it for a week or two. The ques- 
tion of subsistence makes the problem still 
harder. 

After getting all the knowledge and hints 
I could, I told Cudge S., and asked him to 
go with me. He would not risk it. I tried 
Tom B. He heard my plan, and gave me 
his hand on it. 

Our plan was to be taken out, if possible, 
so as to leave in the evening, so that night 
would be on the first part of the road; to 
jump off at some point before we reached 
Macon; then to travel northwest until we 
reached the Chattahoochee, and reached 
the high mountainous divide between it 
and the waters of the Tombigbee; thence 
north till we would reach our lines, some- 
where between Big Shanty and Resaca. 

We expected a four hundred miles trip, 
and thought we could make it in a month. 
We expected to keep hid by day till we 
reached the wooded hills of Alabama, when 
we hoped to be able to travel a little by 
day. 



CHAPTER IX. 



A LEAP FOR FREEDOM. 



About the first of October Tom and I 
found the opportunity to suit us. The train 
was loaded and guarded about as the wreck- 
ed one. ' We received two days' rations — a 
piece of corn bread about the size of a 
brick to each man — no meat this time. 
Only one guard in our car, and four or five 
on top. 

If was about eleven o'clock. The train 
was running ten or twelve miles per hour. 
The men were quarreling, growling and 
swearing because they were too weak and 
tired to stand, and had not room enough to 
(85) 



86 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

lie down. The guard had braced himself 
against one side of the open door. There 
were no lights on the train except on the 
engine and caboose. All the rest was dark 
as any other freight train. Tom and I 
worked ourselves over close to the door. 
We stood and looked out at the star-light 
'night. We tried to seem indifferent, and 
growled for room, like the rest. But I felt 
strangely depressed. Some demon of cow- 
ardice would keep whispering to me: ^' You 
will probably dash your brains out; or you 
will be seen by the guard and shot to death; 
or may be you will only break a few bones, 
so you can't get away, and you will linger 
and die a cripple, and your friends will 
never know what has become of you." 

These dark probabilities would keep pre- 
senting themselves, and I had to fight them 
back. Finally we sat down in the door. We 
put our feet out — then drew them in, and 
squatted there; then hung them out again. 
We talked of many things to those next to 
us; but all the time we fhoiujJd of only one 
thing. We were sitting side l)y side on the 
floor, with our feet hanging out at the door. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 87 

The guard saw us, but paid no attention. 
He doubtless thought we had more sense 
than to jump off a running train. We ran 
into a cut twelve or fifteen feet deep. It 
was dark. I nudged Tom. He nodded. I 
put my hands on the edge of the floor and 
dropped off, I struck in the ditch. The 
motion of the train hurled me violently 
against the ground, but it was soft mud and 
water. I lay very still till the train went 
by. When it got two or three hundred 
yards up the road I got up. I was not 
hurt. All those presentiments of danger 
had miscarried. My feelings arose accord- 
ingly. I was sure now that I would reach 
our lines. I walked along the railroad in 
the direction the train had gone. Tom was 
about two hundred yards from where I fell. 
I asked why he didn't jump out sooner. He 
said the train seemed to him to go faster 
after I jumped. He fell on harder ground, 
and had bruised his shoulder. 

We climbed out of the cut, sat on the 
fence, and looked at the north star — 
that friend universal of wandering man. 
Now for four hundred miles of star-light 



88 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

walking, bearing ever a little west of that 
star. Tom had a pair of miserable old 
boots. I was barefooted. We each had a 
blouse and pants in tolerable preservation. 
Our shirts were worn out. We had no bag- 
gage, no tools — not even a pocket-knife. 
We were outlaws. Not a crime in the cata- 
logue would so surely alienate us from 
everybody and debar us from sympathy, as 
the fact that we were U. S. soldiers in 
Dixie. 

We jumped off the fence and started. 
Our hearts were stout, if our legs were a 
little shaky. We traveled across corn and 
cotton fields till gray light streaked the 
eastern horizon, then entered a thicket, and 
as it grew light we worked our way into it. 
It proved to be a large cypress swamp, sur- 
rounded by a dense thicket. By the edge 
of the oozy swamp we broke off twigs and 
branches of trees, and made us a bed, and 
as the sun mounted up the sky, we stretch- 
ed our weary limbs and slept. 

We agreed to watch and sleep by turns; 
but I think the watcher slept as soundly as 
the sleeper. The one thing we dreaded was 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 89 

the possibility of prowling hounds tracking 
us up and calling attention to us by their 
bark; but here we felt safe, for on a log, not 
more than fifty feet away in the swamp, 
lay an alligator about ten feet long, and we 
knew no hound would care to hunt along 
the shore of that swamp. The reptile lay 
there for two hours about the middle of the 
day, and we regarded him as a friend, al- 
though we did not desire any closer in- 
timacy. 

In the afternoon we ate one ration of our 
bread, and before the sun went down we 
v/orked our way through the jungle to its 
northwest end; from which, as soon as it 
grew dark, we again set forth on our jour- 
ney, crossing, fields, woods, roads and 
streams. We traveled quietly. When we 
came onto a road, we stopped, listened, and 
if we heard no sound we crossed it quickly. 
Even if it ran our course we would not fol- 
low it, for fear of meeting a patrolman. 

During this second night we came onto a 
field of sweet potatoes. We dug and ate 
some of them, and put some in our blouse 
pockets for next day. We traveled well 



90 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

that night, going probably twenty miles; 
but before day we ran into a swamp on our 
track, and being tired, we stopped and wait- 
ed for light, when we worked into it, and 
spent the second day much as we did our 
first. We ate the last of our bread and as 
much new sweet potato as we dared. 

The third night we had a hard time. Our 
course lay mostly through woods, and we 
ran into three or four swamps, and had to 
make wide detours to pass around them. 
We did not make many miles headway that 
night. The next day we were still in such 
thickets and forests, and after sleeping 
three or four hours we traveled in daylight, 
moving cautiously, and keeping well under 
cover of the thickets, as we slipped along. 
We came across a tree full of ripe persim- 
mons, and ate a large mess 

There is a good deal of food in this fruit. 
It satisfied our hunger and strengthened 
us. I think I never enjoyed a meal more. 
We kept on till the sound of chopping wood 
and the crowinj2^ of fowls warned us that 
we were approaching an inhabited country 
when we hid in the bushes and waited for 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 91 

the friendly darkness to renew our journey. 
The fourth night we passed so close to a 
house that the dogs barked at us, and we 
ran our best away from it. We were again 
bothered by swamps. About midnight we 
ran into one, backed out, flanked to the 
right about half a mile, and tried again. 
Couldn't make it. Went a half mile far- 
ther, and again failed. 



CHAPTER X. 



IN THE SWAMPS. 



While we were making efforts to flank the 
swamp, the sky was overcast with clouds. 
It became so dark that we could not see at 
all, so we were compelled to stop. We felt 
around in the dark and ran against a large 
tree, at the root of which we reclined and 
waited for day. 

As the darkness began to turn to a leaden 
gray, it began to rain. vSlowly and in small 
drops at first, but soon gaining till it rained 
hard. All the leaves were dripping, and we 
were soaked and chilled in a short time; 
(92) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 93 

and yet the rain showed no sign of quit- 
ting. 

We took the blues and grumbled, mur- 
mured and were on the point of quarreling 
with each other. Everything was wrong. 
We had not found a thing to eat all night — 
had no hope of finding anything in that 
jungle; and if the rain and clouds contin- 
ued we could not leave it the coming night, 
for we would have no guide for our course 
unless the sun or stars should appear, and 
by the next morning we would probably be 
too weak to walk. 

When Elijah ran into the wilderness to 
escape the idolatrous Jezebel, he took the 
blues, and thought he had better be dead. 
Instead of reasoning with him, God fed him. 
And while Tom and I sat dripping, chilled 
and empty in that swamp, I think our de- 
spondency belonged more to our physical 
than to our mental condition. 

As we reclined at the root of the tree, a 
large green frog came hopping through the 
wet leaves and moss. We did not philoso- 
phize and draw a lesson from his progress, 
as the Tartar chieftain did from the ant; 



94 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

neither did we draw the Christian's lesson 
of trust, that if God feeds the frog in the 
jungle, he will care for us. But Tom said, 
''let's have him," and falling his length, 
covered the reptile with his broad palm. 
To divide him with our thumb nails was 
the work of an instant; to eat him took but 
a minute more. There were no fragments 
to be taken up after the meal. 

One frog could not satisfy our . appetite, 
but it stopped the gnawing of the stomach 
and the ringing in the head. We liked it. 

The rain ceased, and after noon the sun 
appeared occasionally through the clouds. 
We flanked the swamp, waded a wide, slug- 
gish creek, waist deep, and worked through 
a canebrake before night. 

We came to a cornfield, and about sun- 
down we climbed the fence. The corn had 
been gathered, but we searched till we 
found one ear that had been missed, which 
we ate. We found some dry beans also 
among the cornstalks, and ate a few of 
them, but they were not palatable in their 
new state, and, as we had no means to cook 
them, we ate but few. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 95 

We crossed corn and cotton fields that 
night, following the rows to keep from be- 
ing turned from our course, as the stars 
did not show. We estimated the distance 
across these fields at four miles. The coun- 
try was level, and the fields were muddy 
from the rain; so, by the time we had 
crossed them and run into a cane- 
brake on the west side, we w^ere tired 
enough to lie down. 

The next morning was foggy, and stands 
out in memory as eminently tlie morning 
that we fought gallinippers. That pest of 
the swamp seemed determined to take 
what little blood we had, and we fought to 
save it. 

After a while the fog floated off, and the 
sun shone brightly. We picked a place and 
lay in the sun till we dried our clothes, 
which had been wet for twenty-four hours. 

On the other side of this canebrake was 
a cornfield, in which we found three or four 
ears, and ate a good mess. We followed 
the cane to where it merged into a thicket, 
in which we found wild grapes. This 
thicket was in a narrow slough running be- 



96 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

tween cieared fields. It was not more than 
fifty yards wide. While we were gathering 
the grapes we heard a gun not very far 
away. We crept into the thickest bushes 
near, and lay flat on the ground. Soon a 
man, carrying a gun, passed along the edge 
of the field, not more than twenty yards 
from us. He was the first human being we 
had seen since we left the train. The sight 
made us nervous for awhile; but after hear- 
ing two shots a good distance up the thick- 
et, and waiting awhile, we crept out and 
continued our journey down the slough. 

Traveling in a thicket is slow work, — 
creeping under, climbing over, crowding 
through the vine-tied bushes. But we kept 
at it till all at once we stood on the bank of 
a broad, smooth-flowing river. 

What river is it? We ransacked our 
meager knowledge of Georgia geography. 
It must be Flint River; and yet if it is, we 
are not where we thought we were. We 
had not been carried as far by rail as we 
thought. It was Flint River. 

One thing was certain: the river lay in 
our way, and must be crossed; and we 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 97 

thought it best to prepare to cross before 
dark. The banks were Imed with birch 
and cane. We started up stream under 
cover of this growth, hunting for driftwood 
to buikl a raft. We found a httle path, and 
followed it till it turned down the bank. 
There we found an old dug-out, or log ca- 
noe, chained to a tree and locked. 

We waited patiently for twilight to settle 
over river and timber. I found a piece of 
clapboard for a paddle. Tom took a stake 
and pried out the staple that fastened the 
chain to the boat. The owner doubtless 
found his lock and chain all right, but his 
canoe was like the dog whose master tied 
him to the rear car, thinking he could trot 
along behind the train. 



CHAPTER XL 



BLOODHOUNDS. 



We crossed Flint River, turned the boat 
loose, for fear of being tracked from it by 
hounds, struggled up the bank, and toiled 
through a dense thicket. The ground was 
low and had been washed by floods. The 
old growth of cane and willow had been 
washed down and stood at a slight angle 
from the ground, and the new had grown 
up through it. Imagine a lapped willow 
hedge, covering acres of ground, with two 
men going through it in the dark, and you 
have a true picture. 

After working through the tow-head for 
(98) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 99 

thirty or forty rods, we found we were on 
an island. Our boat was gone. There was 
nothing with which to make a raft. We 
had crossed the main stream, but before us 
was a channel sixty or eighty feet wide, 
and of unknown depth. 

1 have known theologians to discuss, the 
question, ''Who has a right to pray?" I 
think it is one of the natural rights; and 
that any one in mental health does pray 
sometimes. He needs revelation to acquaint 
him with the Being he addresses, but he 
will pray whether he knows Him or not. 

If any one doubts my theory, swimming 
a river where alligators abound is a good 
way to test it. Here's a chance for Tyn- 
dall. As we plunged into the dark waters, 
our souls cried out to the Invisible One, not 
in audible words, but in earnest breathings. 
I'll never forget it. We knew such chan- 
nels were favorite resorts for these mon- 
sters, and that one crash of their powerful 
jaws would end at once our sufferings and 
our hopes. 

Across. Up the bank; through a thicket. 
A fence, and broad meadows beyond. We 



100 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

pulled off our clothes, ruug out the water, 
and put them on again. But I fear I will 
weary the reader with these details. "Pris- 
on life," in Avhich thousands were involved 
with me, has dwindled down to a personal 
narrative, and I will not bore you by asking 
you to go over the whole course of our 
wanderings. 

We kept on our course by night, and hid 
by day. When we could find nothing to 
eat in the fields, we were forced to try at 
negro cabins, to beg of their scanty fare. 

When this had to be done, one went 
alone, and the other hid, with this under- 
standing that if the one who went was cap- 
tured, he should tell that he was traveling 
alone; and the other, after waiting a rea- 
sonable time, should go on by himself. I 
went once, and Tom twice. He came near 
getting caught one time while waiting for 
a hoe-cake to bake. The overseer came to 
the cabin where he was, and he was cover- 
ed up in a pile of rags in the corner. 

In crossing fields, we often encountered 
a low-running briar, called dewberry vines. 
My bare feet and ankles were soon badly 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 101 

scratched, and full of thorns, and going 
through the weeds and fens were 
poisoned. During the day they would 
swell up, and were very feverish. When 
I would start out in the evening, it 
was like walking on a boil for a mile or 
two. I would sweat and shake with the 
pain, and it required a strong effort of the 
will to go on at all. After a mile or so they 
would get numb, and I would get along 
better; unless I tore them afresh on the 
briars. In the morning they would throb 
and ache, and swell again. 

A new trouble stared us in the face after 
we had been out ten or twelve days— Tom 
was failing. He was about six feet high, 
and Avell proportioned. In our lines, he 
would weigh about one hundred and eighty. 
Of course it required more food to keep 
him than a smaller man. He never com- 
plained. He was too gritty for that. But 
at almost every fence we crossed he would 
say, "Oats, let's rest a little." During the 
day he had aching in his bones and head; 
his eyes were deeply sunken in their sock- 
ets, and he could get but little sleep. He 



102 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

would sit for hours with his elbows on his 
knees and his chin in his hands. After 
looking at him, his haggard face and hollow 
black eyes would stay in my mind when I 
turned away, and I could not help asking 
the question: ^' Will he last long enough to 
reach home?" or, "If he fails and gets 
down, what can I do for him?" I could see 
but two courses to choose from, in such an 
event- — one was to go to the nearest house 
and surrender us up. The other, to make 
him a bed in the thicket, and forage by 
night, and watch him by day, till he mend- 
ed or died. He did not get down, but kept 
on till we had been out fifteen nights. Dur- 
ing that time we had traveled about one 
hundred and fifty miles — an average of ten 
miles per night. 

At this time General Hood had started 
on his Nashville campaign, and his Georgia 
soldiers were deserting in great numbers. 
The Provost Marshals were ordered to hunt 
them up and return them to their com- 
mands. 

Their plan for executing this order was, 
to warn the citizens against feeding or help- 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 103 

ing the deserters in any way; and in case 
any one was found about their premises, 
they were ordered to notify the Marshal at 
once, so that he could go and arrest them. 

We spent the fourteenth day of our pil- 
grimage in a little thicket on the border of 
a large plantation. It was not a swamp, 
but a patch of briars and brambles allowed 
to grow along the fence, because of the 
slovenly method of farming. We felt un- 
easy on account of the insecurity of our 
hiding-place, and did not dare to move 
about in search of food, lest we expose our- 
selves. So we kept still and fasted till 
dark. When night came we started, deter- 
mined to hunt food, and make what head- 
way we could. But we had fasted so long 
that we staggered like drunken men, and 
that terrible ringing of the head warned us 
that we must find food or go crazy before 
long. 

Failing in the fields, we approached thQ 
negro quarters of the plantation. We 
aroused the inmates of two or three cabins, 
and begged, but got nothing. They said 
they had nothing. My opinion is, that they 



104 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

did not believe we were genuine Yanks, and 
were afraid to help us. Finally, we found 
an old darkey wdio said his wife cooked for 
the white folks, and that if we would slip 
around into the kitchen behind the man- 
sion, w^e could get something to eat. He 
told us how to get in, and how to find the 
pantry stores. We wanted him to go and 
bring us out something, but he refused. 
There it was, and w^e could get it our- 
selves if we wanted it. We sat down in the 
dark shadow of the fence, and quietly dis- 
cussed the chances of starving or getting 
food elsewhere. It was several miles to an- 
other plantation. We decided that this 
was our best chance; and cautiously ap- 
proached and silently entered the kitchen. 
We followed the negro's directions, and 
found bread, meat and milk. We drank 
the milk, and taking a piece of bread and 
meat in our hands, we "silently stole 
away." 

We traveled three or four miles. The 
ringing in our heads gradually ceased, but 
our limbs wabbled badly all night. Before 
day we found a little thicket in the midst 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 105 

of a cotton field, and decided to halt and 
make it our hiding-place for the next day. 
So ended the fifteenth and last night of our 
flight. 

From the night that we jumped off the 
cars till we, all damp with the night's dews, 
crept into this thicket, our hope had grown 
higher and higher. Every thicket where 
we made our lair for a day — yes, every field 
we crossed, seemed to make our prospect 
hrighter. ''If we reach our lines" was 
gradually changing to " When we reach our 
lines,'' in our thought and conv^ersation. It 
was still a long way off, but we would not 
be likely to m-eet worse obstacles than 
we had already encountered; and if our 
strength only held out, we would make it 
by and hj. This was the way we felt on 
the morning after this nights adventure. 

About midday we were sitting in a sunny 
spot in the thicket, trying to get warm 
enough to make us sleepy. 

Tom was sitting, or squatting, a few feet 
from me, hugging his knees and resting his 
chin in his hands. I was reclining against 



106 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

some bu&hes that I had bent down. Neither 
had spoken for some time. 

My ear caught a sound. I listened. Pres- 
ently I heard it again a little plainer. I 
raised up and sat erect, all attention. Yes, 
1 could hear it better now. Every nerve 
was strained to listen. The blood seemed 
to all rush into my heart^my heart into 
my throat, I shuddered, and turned sick. 
I had heard that sound before. It was 
often borne to our ears as we lay in Ander- 
son ville; especially on the day after the 
tunnel was opened. 

I looked at Tom. He had not changed 
his position, but his great black eyes were 
glaring at me with a wild, hopeless expres- 
sion in them. 

"Tom, do you hear those hounds?" 

"They are on our track!" 

"What shall we do?" 

"What can we do!" 

Sure, enough! What could we do in our 
condition? If we had only had our car- 
bines we might have done something. But 
we had nothing — not even a knife. 

The In'utes were getting closer. They 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 



107 




108 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

were coming across the field toward our 
thicket. We climbed a tree. 

Five men, armed and mounted, and four 
bloodhounds soon discovered us. They or- 
dered us to surrender; called off the hounds, 
and we came down. 

The Provost Captain of this squad looked 
us all over, and said: 

"Who the are you?" 

We told him. He was looking for de- 
serters, and was as much sur^Drised at find- 
ing Yanks in that part of the country as we 
were at being found. But somehow he en- 
joyed the surprise much better than we. 

To us it was terrible. All our risk, our 
toil, our suffering, had come to nothing. 
When we learned that we would be sent 
back to Andersonville, Tom begged the 
guard to shoot him, and end his misery at 
once. 

I felt very much as Tom did. Neither of 
us thought that we could live through the 
winter in that pen. Hope was dead. De- 
spair settled down upon us. I cannot 
describe it. No one who has not felt it 
would recognize the picture. May God pre- 



PRISON LIB^E IN DIXIE. 109 

serve the reader from ever knowing by ex- 
perience the meaning of the word. 



CHAPTER XII. 

WANTED — A SHIRT. 

The captain of the squad that caught us 
was a good-natured, jolly old fellow, who 
looked as though he lived on the best beef 
and brandy in Georgia. He treated us well. 

They stopped with us, after dark, at the 
house of a wealthy planter, in the northern 
part of Talbott county — a large, white 
house, in a grove of oaks. It looked pretty 
and homelike in the moonlight, as we en- 
tered the yard. We saw none of the family 
that night except the host, a pleasant old 
gentleman, with white hair and beard. He 
(110) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. Ill 

listened with interest to the captain's ac- 
count of our capture, and asked us a num- 
ber of questions. He made the servants 
prepare supper for the guard and us; and 
told us that we were welcome to all we 
could eat, but advised us to be careful not 
to eat too much. He then ordered beds 
prepared for the whole party. Tom and 1 
told him we were not fit to sleep in a bed, 
but he insisted; so we washed and went to 
bed. A fire was built in our room, and the 
four rebel soldiers divided the time so that 
two of them were on guard by the fire all 
night. 

I have often thought of their careful 
watch. We were weary, foot-sore and thor- 
oughly discouraged. With a fair start we 
could not make over five or six miles that 
night, and with their hounds they could 
catch us by ten o'clock next day. If they 
had put their guns where we could not get 
hold of them, I don't think we would have 
tried to get away. Yet such was their cau- 
tion that they sat up by twos to guard us. 

We did not sleep much. We were too 
blue. Our future looked dark. I was ner- 



112 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

vous and wakeful, and as Tom tossed about 
in the bed, deep sighs, that were almost 
sobs, told me that he could not sleep. 

In the morning after we were up and 
washed, our host came in, and, with South- 
ern hospitality, set before us a big black 
bottle, a sugar-bowl, and tumblers. The 
bottle contained a fiery liquor, called by the 
Johnnies in those days, '^ sanguin.'' 

Tell the Temperance Reformer to go on 
with his crusade. May God speed him in 
his efforts. He is right- — it was vile stuff. 
Our host knew it, but he apologized by say- 
ing that the accursed Yankee blockade had 
cut off his supply of old Kentucky Bourbon, 
and he offered us the best he had. 

He then led us and our guard out to 
breakfast. It had been a long, long time 
since Tom or I had sat at table with ladies. 
Even in our lines, in campaign from Chatta- 
nooga to Atlanta, we had no such privileges. 
As we entered the dining room the host 
gave us some sort of a general introduction 
to three ladies — his wife and daughters. It 
is fashionable for men to accuse the other 
sex of vanity; but we have our full share. 



PRISON LIFE IN LIXIE. 118 

When 1 looked across the table at those 
well-dressed ladies, and down at my tatter- 
ed pants, and swollen, discolored feet, I felt 
bashful and awkward; and as I drew my 
blouse more closely about my neck and 
breast, the desire for giddy display so over- 
came me that for one brief moment I wish- 
ed I had a shirt. I sat down embarrassed 
by the feeling that I was not fit to be there. 
But the table talk turned at once upon the 
war and its current campaigns, and the 
boastful manner in which they spoke of 
the prowess of their armies, and the skill 
of their generals, soon aroused my combat- 
iveness and put me at my ease. 

Their greatest boast was the skill of Gen- 
eral Hood. He had flanked the flanker; he 
had gone around Sherman; had got be- 
tween him and his best general (Thomas), 
and could now strike either way. Sher- 
man's only chance of escape would be to 
break up his army into small divisions and 
go out through East Tennessee. To one 
who remembers the campaign of 1864, in 
which Thomas fell back before Hood till 
he got everything ready, and then utterly 
8 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 115 

crushed the life out of his army, this boast- 
ing has its moral. 

Of course Tom and I entered into the dis- 
cussion — much of it was addressed to us. 
They charged many hard things against 
the U. S. Government. Some of them we 
denied, some we could defend, and some we 
couldn't. 

They said we could never whip them in 
the world. We said the United States 
would govern the country or make a wil- 
derness of it, and we didn't care which. 

We spoke bitterly of Andersonville, and 
told them — and we thought so then — that 
we could not live through the coming win- 
ter if they sent us back there, and we hoped 
our Government would retaliate. That if 
we could be sure that for every man who 
languished in Andersonville one would 
freeze in Camp Douglass, we would go and 
bravely die and rot there. We were not a 
hit excited. Only earnest and warm. May 
be it was the ^'sanguin" juice. 

One standard subject for hard feeling in 
those days was the enlistment of the ne- 
gro into the army. It was seldom that we 



116 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

ever got into a discussion with the rebels 
that they did not refer to that. One of 
the soldiers present said: ^' Yo Gove'ment 
thinks yon-alls no bettah than niggahs, foh 
it puts niggahs in yo ahmy,"— and he look- 
ed at the ladies for approval. One of us re- 
torted: "Then j^our Government thinks 
you are no better than hounds, for it uses 
hounds for the same purpose!" 

So we had it up and down during the en- 
tire breakfast. The old captain allowed us 
full freedom of speech, if not of person, and 
we indulged oui^selves. I have given these 
hard speeches and ruffled feelings thus fully 
because of what followed. 

After breakfast was over, while the pro- 
vost were getting ready to start with us, 
the mistress of the house gave Tom and 
me an old quilt to be owned in common, a 
small sack filled with provisions for us to 
eat on the way, and to each of us a pair of 
home-spun and home-knitted cotton socks. 

I felt as though I could not take the gifts, 
after all that had passed, and I told the 
woman, "Madam, we are here as your ene- 
mies. We have lodged under your roof be- 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 117 

cause we could not help ourselves. Let us 
part as enemies. Our strongest desire is 
that we may live to be reunited with our 
regiment, that we may raid through this 
country and make war terrible to it. Don't 
make us feel that we are under obliga- 
tions to a human being in this whole land." 

She answered: "1 have two boys, soldiers 
with Lee in the army of Virginia. If they 
should ever be captured and brought to 
your mother, so destitute as you are, I 
would want her to do something for them, 
and I want to do something for you. Our 
own army has made so many requisitions 
on us that there is but little left that 
I could spare. I would like to give you 
some warm clothing, but I have none. This 
quilt may afford some shelter from the win- 
try winds, and these socks will be some 
protection to your feet. You won't refuse 
them?" 

I bit my under lip. I bit my upper lip — 
it was no use — the tears would come. 1 
couldn't help it. I could answer taunt with 
taunt; but kindness found every picket 
asleep. I was surprised. There was some- 



118 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

thing in my throat I could not swallow. 
That woman's Christianity cropped out 
above her patriotism. Be patient, reader, 
and let me linger a little. It is the only 
bright spot in all those dreary months. 

My memory of prison life is a dark, slug- 
gish lagoon, with muddy banks and oozy 
bed, from which all beauty has departed. 
But look! Rising from the black water and 
floating on the scummy surface, we found a 
lovely water-lily, mingling its sweet per- 
fume with the pestilential vapors. As I 
look back over my life, I see no one deed 
that moved its currents more deeply than 
this one. 

I hope that that woman received her 
boys safe and sound at the end of the war. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



JAILED. 



We put on the socks. I told the woman 
I would never forget her kindness, and so 
far I have kept my promise. That was Oc- 
tober 20th, 1864— just sixteen years ago. 
During these years I have changed so much 
that I can hardly identify myself; and I 
think that no one who knows the preacher 
of to-day, would recognize in him the reck- 
less, hopeless "Oats" of that day; and still 
the events of that morning are as vivid in 
my memory as though they had happened 
during the last year. 

(119) 



120 PRISON LIFE IN ^DIXIE. 

The guard ordered us to start. The cap- 
tain and one soldier went with us. They 
were mounted, and ordered us to walk be- 
fore them. The road was dusty; in places, 
rough; and they kept urging us to walk 
faster, until we were almost exhausted . 

Toward noon we came to Talbotton, the 
county-seat. I can describe it with one 
sentence: The railroad missed it. I think 
you can all see its general dilapidation in 
that sentence. 

We came to the public square, and were 
stopped under a large shade tree. Two 
Yanks in toioi! The news spread rapidly, 
and soon brought around us a crowd of 
ladies (?) and gentlemen (?). Everybody 
seemed to be at leisure. No, we did not 
feel proud of our notoriety. A dog-fight 
would have called the same crowd together. 

They bemeaned us, and berated us sound- 
ly, and when we told them that we were 
Kentuckians, they became more abusive 
still. They could overlook the meanness of 
New England Yanks, but Kentucky Yanks 
were t?'aitors^ and ought to be hung! The 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 121 

ladies (?) used the most insulting language 
at their command. 

Finally, an old man, with long, white 
beard, a harsh, cracked voice, and an extra- 
ordinary vocabulary of profane and vulgar 
language, spoke thus: 

"I'd hang 'em! String 'em up! I wouldn't 
guard such. Give 'em hemp!" 

Tom turned on him like the caged lion 
that he was: 

"You'd hang 'em? I believe you. It's 
just your pluck! Hang two viiserable^ starv- 
ed, sick ])risoneys! You're a brave! You 
never saw a real, live Yank. You coward! 
Go up to Atlanta and see them with the 
horns on. If you heard the Yanks were 
coming this way you'd run and hide!" 

I give the substance of these speeches as 
well as I can. To report them in full would 
require the use of a good many words that 
are spelled " " in polite literature. 

Tom's speech fired the whole crowd. It 
was a regular mob, and they began to talk 
earnestly about doing what, the old man 
suggested. Our old captain had left us in 
charge of the guard for a short time; but 



122 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

he rode up just in time, and with a cocked 
pistol in his hand, threatened to shoot the 
first man who tried to molest us. He or- 
dered us to keep our mouths shut, and said 
if we wouldn't talk so saucy there would 
be no danger. 

I was scared. When I was captured the 
day before, I thought I would as lief be 
shot. But when I looked in the face of 
death at the hands of that mob, I found I 
did not want to die in that way — then. 

A new guard, one man, was detailed to 
take us on to Geneva. He drove us before 
him down the road. We were very tired 
and weak. We begged him to let us rest; 
but he was in a hurry. Finally, a man in a 
spring-wagon overtook us, and the guard 
had him haul us. He was a kind man, and 
the first Southerner we had found who 
thought there was any possibility of Hood 
having made a mistake in his campaign. 
He freely admitted that he did not see the 
wisdom of leaving Sherman in Atlanta with 
sixty thousand men, and not even a decent 
skirmish line between him and the heart of 
Georgia. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 123 

"They were fools if they thought he 
would stay where they wanted him to, till 
Hood got ready to come back and whip 
him!" 

Ah! how Tom and I enjoyed this chat. 
It was more delicious than nectar. It would 
beat sorghum juice! 

Geneva is a town on the Macon & Colum- 
bus railroad. Our friend with the buggy 
took us to the depot, and as he left, gave us 
two dollars (Confed.) apiece to buy tobacco 
with. We passed a resolution, by a stand- 
ing vote, that he was "Bully!" 

We were put on a train and taken to Col- 
umbus, Georgia, where we arrived a little- 
before dark. Columbus was at that time a 
thrifty-looking little city. We had not gone 
far till we saw a familiar face on the other 
side of the street — the face of a wooden In- 
dian. The guard crossed over, and we in- 
vested our "Confed." in "Ole Yirginny." 
We were then taken to military headquar- 
ters. 

Every old soldier remembers the unspeak- 
able contempt in which we used to hold 
these red-tape fops, who always kept out of 



124 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

danger b}^ being detailed on post duty in 
the rear. You remember we used to have 
a name for them. Sycophant is as near 
the meaning of the word as any term I can 
find, but that is not quite the word that we 
used. It will doubtless help us to forgive 
the rebel soldiers to know that they were 
cursed by the same class of dandies in their 
rear. 

At headquarters in Columbus we found 
two or three of these fops. Our guard ap- 
proached one who was writing at a desk, 
and, saluting him, began: 
"I have two prisoners — '' 
''I ain't the man." 

He crossed the room to the other desk, 
and again began his statement. The clerk 
spoke in a haught}^, disdainful manner — 
"Where did you get these men?" 

'^ Capt. caught them near ." 

"Where did they come from?" 
" They say, from Andersonville." 
"Too many men get out of Anderson- 
ville," as though the guard could help it. 
He then turned and looked at us with as 
much contempt in his glance as a hotel 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 125 

clerk would give to a Congressman, and 
asked : 

''How did you get out?" 

" We climbed out on a grape-vine." 

He wrote a little note and handed it to 
the guard. 

" Take these men to jail, and give that to 
the jailer." So we went to jail in the city 
of Columbus, Georgia. 

We were criminals! Our crime was be- 
lieving in the Government of the United 
States, and being willing to defend its flag. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



CAMP LAWTON. 



The jail at Columbus was an iron build- 
ing. It consisted of a hall about twelve 
feet Avide, twenty feet long, and twelve feet 
high; with a double tier of cells on each 
side. Each cell was about six feet cube. A 
shelf about two feet wide ran along each 
side of the hall, six feet from the floor, by 
which we had access to the upper tier of 
cells. In each cell was a kind of bunk or 
shelf to sleep on. 

When Tom and I were turned into that 
jail, there were seventeen jail-birds there. 
(126) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 127 

I remember the number seventeen, l)ut am 
not sure whether there were seventeen be- 
fore we entered, or whether we made the 
number. 

One man — a murderer— was kept locked 
in his cell. All the rest of us stayed in the 
common hall by day, and slept in the cells, 
or on the hall floor by night, as we pleased. 

We were a select company. One old man 
was there for dodging the conscript law. 
There were two deserters from the rebel 
army, waiting until they could be forward- 
ed to their command. There were two 
roughs who w^ere sent there for raising a 
row in a brothel down town. A Texan, for 
killing a quartermaster. Three negroes: 
two of them for trying to run off. I can't 
remember all of them, but last, as the chief 
of criminals, Tom and I — two Yanks! 

We were there ten or twelve days, 
I don't remember the exact time; but it 
was a good place to stay. We had two 
good meals per day, consisting of good corn 
bread (not the Andersonville kind), bacon, 
cabbage, rice, etc., all well cooked and 
enough of it. One of the negroes had 



128 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

friends outside who brought him peanuts, 
which he shared with us; and the roughs 
had " friends " of their kind, who brought 
them delicacies, and when they learned 
that there were Yanks in there, they gave 
us oranges. 

We improved in health, strength, and 
spirits, rapidly; and we passed another res- 
olution by a large majority: Whereas, we 
have to be prisoners; Resolved — That we 
would rather be treated as criminals than 
as prisoners of war! And I now record 
that resolution in these minutes. 

The blessings of this world are transient, 
and sooner or later we have to give them 
up. The Columbus jail was not an excep- 
tion. About two hundred prisoners, cap- 
tured by Hood at Atlanta, Georgia, were 
being forwarded to prison by way of Col- 
umbus. When they arrived, our jailer was 
ordered to put us with them. 

We were taken out of jail in the evening, 
and put with the other prisoners, who were 
corralled on a vacant lot and closely guard- 
ed. The next morning we were loaded on 
a train of flat cars and taken to Macon. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 129 

Tom was feeling well, and my feet were 
in a fair way to recover. Hood was about 
C'hattanooga, so we decided that if we run 
that night we would jump off, and aim to 
go straight to Atlanta. The reader may 
try to imagine our disappoint when, instead 
of going on, they took us off the cars at 
Macon, and again put us in camp. We saw^ 
that they did not intend to travel by night, 
so we tried to think of some way to run 
the guard. 

We were put in a place that had a high, 
tight board fence on three sides of it; on 
the fourth ran the Ocmulgee river. The 
guards walked around inside of the fence, 
and along the river bank. Tom conceived 
the idea of slipping past the guard on the 
bank, getting down to the water, and quiet- 
ly swimming and floating with the current 
out of town. We tried to do it, but the 
guard was too vigilant, and we had to give 
it up after narrowly escaping being shot. 

The next morning we were again put on 
the flat cars, and started toward Savannah. 
Riding on those open flat cars gave us a 
good chance to see the country, and we 



130 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

made close observations, even counting the 
streams we crossed. The country was very 
flat, large swamps were abundant — it look- 
ed as if fully half the land was swampy. 
We saw but few clearings or other indica- 
tions of an inhabited country. We did not 
think we could get through such a country 
by night, but it looked as though there 
would not be much danger in daylight. 

About three o'clock we came to Milieu 
Junction, where the Augusta road intersects 
the Savannah & Macon railroad. Our train 
switched off and ran up the Augusta road 
two or three miles, to where the rebels had 
established a new prison, called by them, 
*' Camp Lawton," but known to us as the 
^'Millen Prison." 

This prison w^as built on the same general, 
plan as the one at Andersonville, but it was 
much better every way. 

It was a stockade pen, enclosing about 
twenty-five acres. Wall, sentry-boxes, and 
dead-line as at Andersonville. The water 
was clear and comparatively pure, as there 
was no camp on the creek above the pen. 
The trees along this creek were left for 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 131 

shade, making probably three acres ot tim- 
ber. The creek went murmuring through 
this forest shade, following its own winding 
channel for about half the distance across 
the pen. From the middle of the pen to 
the lower stockade the stream was confined 
in a straight channel about four feet wide, 
through which it rushed in a way that 
would carry off all the filth of the prison. 
A good bridge was built across the creek at 
the head of this straight part. 

The prisoners all stayed on the west side 
of the stream, and used the grove and the 
east side as a kind of public park or prom- 
enade. 

What would we not have given for such 
an addition to Andersonville, during those 
horrible hot days in August? 



CHAPTER XY. 



THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION. 

Any one can see by my description of 
Camp Lawton, that it was a better place 
than Anderson ville. Still it lacked a good 
deal of being a fit iDlace in which to spend 
the winter. 

When Tom and I entered, about the first 
of November, 1864, there were about ten 
thousand men there. They were all corrall- 
ed on the west side of the creek, and were 
without shelter, except such miserable 
apologies as we saw in Andersonville. 

Nearly all the men in the prison were 
(132) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 133 

from that horrid pen — taken out o\\ promise 
of exchange, only to keep them docile and 
tractable till they could get them to a safer 
place. 

It is mean to raise hopes and dash them 
down, and the effect was plainly seen here 
in the large number in which hope was 
dead, and who were anxious to be dead lit- 
erally, as the only way to escape from woes 
that had become unbearable. 

Tom and I wandered about among these 
miserable wretches till dark, searching for 
our acquaintances. We found none that 
day. At night we picked out a place, and 
spreading our quilt — that woman's gift, we 
laid us down on the damp ground, under 
the cold gray mists of a November night. 
Thousands lay about us who had not even 
the comfort that we derived from our quilt, 
but chilled and shook the night away, with 
nothing but a ragged shirt and pants to 
shield their starving bodies. We ought to 
have been thankful, but we were not. 

Next day we renewed our search, and 
found a number of our regiment — among 
them my partners in the sack tent. As I 



134 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

still owned my share in that fly, and as 
Tom had found some of his former mess- 
mates, we swapped our quilt for a blanket, 
tore it in halves, and dissolved partnership. 
We were not tired of each other. We were 
always friends — more than friends — we 
were '' pards." Get some old soldier to tell 
you what that means, and you will know 
how strong was our attachment. We could 
each get a better shelter by separating; 
hence we tore the blanket. 

The most notable event of our sojourn in 
this pen was the Presidential election. 
The rebels furnished us with papers con- 
taining extracts from Northern papers call- 
ing the war a failure, and saying that if 
McClellan is elected he will bring it to a 
close. You who were in the loyal States 
during that campaign, doubtless understood 
all the questions at issue. Only one ques- 
tion reached the wretched prisoner in his 
dreary pen. And that was raised by that 
plank in the platform on which Little Mc. 
stood — ''"Resolved, That tJie war is a 
failure,^'' 

Rebel oflicers came in and talked freely 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 135 

with US, giving it as their opinion that if 
McClellan was elected, the war would close 
and we would all be at home before Spring. 
For this they furnished us abundant proof 
from the Northern press. As the day of 
election approached, we became deeply in- 
terested, and but little was talked of but 
the great question at issue and the proba- 
ble result. 

Oh, how anxious we were to go home! 
To leave all that wretchedness behind ! But 
did we want the questions of the war to 
fail in order that we could go home? 

If Lincoln was elected it meant that the 
war would go on; that we would probably 
have to languish in prison for dreary 
months to come. To many it meant death 
hij slow torture! 

We became somewhat excited, and de- 
termined to vote on the questions our- 
selves. We knew our vote would not be 
counted in the returns, but we wanted to 
know how the prisoners would vote. 

We made all needed arrangements to se- 
cure a fair election, and when the day 
came we voted. We had no electors on our 



136 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

tickets, but voted directly for Lincoln and 
McClellan. I do not remember the exact 
number of votes cast for each candidate, 
but it was about eight thousand for Lincoln 
and fifteen hundred for ^'Little Mc," in a 
camp of ten thousand. 

Does the reader of to-day understand that 
vote? What did it mean ? What did it say 
to those rebel officers who watched it so 
closel}^? It meant that we were willing to 
chill and starve; to endure the horrors of 
prison pens ; to die, or worse, to become lu- 
natics and idiots if need be, rather than see 
the war closed with dishonor to the Amer- 
ican flag. It said to those rebels. Do your 
worst, we'll never ask yoii for peace. 

It says to the historian: You may take at 
random four names out of five, from the 
lists of our volunteer soldiers and write 
them by the side of Marcus Regulus, of 
immortal fame. 

The rebels had counted us in companies 
of one hundred, for the purpose of issuing 
rations to us. Each company had a mess 
sergeant, whose duty it was to call up his 
hundred, to be counted in the morning, and 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 137 

to draw and divide the rations in the after- 
noon. We voted by these comiDany hun- 
dreds, in this election. Rebel officers were 
in the pen nearly all the day, watching for 
the result. But in the afternoon when we 
began to count the vote, and the " Lincoln 
hirelings " began to shout, and the '' Mud- 
sills" began to sing ^'The Star-Spangled 
Banner," "Red, White and Blue," etc., they 
left in disgust. 

I met one, a major, down by the bridge, 
as he was leaving. I asked him if he was 
satisfied with the returns. He answered: 

"That's yo affah, suh; I don't care how 
you vote! Jeff Davis is my candidate." — 
Yet something in his tone did belie his 
words. We serenaded the guard that night 
by singing "John Brown." 



CHAPTER XVI. 



ENLISTMENTS. 



When we were in Anders onville there 
were many attempts to find mechanics and 
artisans among the prisoners. 

Calls were made for shoemakers, machin- 
ists, blacksmiths, etc. The rebel authorities 
offered to furnish food and clothing and pay 
good wages to any one who would go out 
on parole and work in their shops. It was 
a great temptation to mechanics who were 
starving in filth and rags; and a good 
many yielded to it and went out. I will 
say, though, that but few native Americans 
(138) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 139 

were among them. They were generally 
foreigners who did not fully understand 
the war and its issues. 

It was also intimated that if any one 
would enlist in their army, he would re- 
ceive rations and pay as a soldier, but while 
in Andersonville I saw no strong effort to 
induce any one to enlist. But in Camp 
Lawton, soon after the Presidential elec- 
tion, rebel recruiting officers came into the 
pen and openly and boldly tried to hire 
men to join the rebel army. 

They offered any one a good suit and fifty 
dollars (Confederate) at once, and would 
take him out and put him on full rations, 
as soon as he would sign his name to their 
muster roll. 

Winter was rapidly coming. Already its 
cold, driving rains and a few chilling frosts 
had reached our wretched abode — if you 
can call an open field an abode. You need 
not travel twenty rods to view a thousand 
naked backs, turning purple in the cold, 
bleak wind. Our own Government had re- 
fused to exchange us. There seemed to be 
no prospect of escape. The prospect of 



140 PRISON LIFE IN Di:SiE. 

staying alive in there was about as hope- 
less. Is it strange that they found a few 
men who were willing to swear allegiance 
to the Confederacy — with the mental reser- 
vation that they would desert as soon as 
they could? 

As I look back across sixteen years at 
those events, my surprise is, that so few 
could be found who would go! I forget the 
exact number, but 1 think about seventy 
enlisted at that time. Less than one in a 
hundred. 

After their names had been obtained, a 
drum beaten at the gate called them out. 
As they went over the creek toward the 
gate, thousands — almost the entire camp — 
crossed over to see them go out; and the 
miserable wretches had to run a gauntlet 
of the fiercest hisses and blood-curdling 
curses that ever saluted mortal ears! And 
only the presence of a strong rebel guard 
prevented that vast mob from falling upon 
them, then and there. Such an hour of 
fierce excitement leaves its track on the 
soul for years. To-day, as memory calls it 
up, my hand trembles under its influence. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 141 

About the last of November, the rebel 
sergeants came into camp just after noon 
and gave orders to about half the prisoners 
to get ready to go out that evening. This 
order threw the camp into the wildest ex- 
citement. ''Is it an exchange?" "Where 
are we going?" ''Why are we moved?" 
We pelted the Johnnies with such ques- 
tions to no purpose. They told us they knew 
nothing about it. We were all anxious 
to go. Not only the hundreds that were 
ordered, but all the rest took down their 
meager tents and rolled them up, and at 
sunset the whole camp was massed at the 
gate, impatiently waiting for it to open. 

The first hundred was called. A hundred 
was counted out. Not the hundred that 
had messed together; for wherever there 
was a weak or sick man in the squad, he 
was unceremoniously crowded out by a 
stronger man of another hundred. No man 
said, "by your leave." It was a grand 
illustration of the " survival of the fittest." 
Selfishness ruled supreme. Groans, curses 
and blows mingled, as men struggled to 
keep in place, or crowded to find one by 



142 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

displacing some one else. Since "Oats" has 
turned preacher, and is trying to walk in 
the path of peace, I think I had better not 
tell in what part of the column he went 
out. 

We were loaded on trains, and run down 
to Millen Junction, where we remained 
closely guarded until after midnight. We 
tried to find out from the guard our desti- 
nation, but they either did not know or 
would not tell. After a weary delay they 
pulled out on the Savannah road, and ran 
at unusual speed — for a freight train — for 
thirty or forty miles, when they stopped 
and went into a sidetrack at a station, in 
the midst of a dreary, swampy flat, where 
we remained until daylight. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



LIFE ON THE RAILROAD. 

The next day we rolled along over what 
seemed to be a great, monotonous plain, as 
wide and as flat as the broad prairies of 
Northeastern Illinois or Northern Indiana. 
The poor, sandy plains were timbered with 
pitch pine, and where the land became 
swampy, cypress took the place of the pine. 
Once in a while we would see a clearing, 
sometimes quite a large plantation, but 
more than nine-tenths of the land was cov- 
ered by the primitive forest, almost as wild 
as when the Creeks and Cherokees hunted 
deer through its thickets. 
(143) 



144 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

After a while the scenery began to change. 
Plantations were closer together. Instead 
of rude cabins, we had occasional glimpses 
of palatial residences, surrounded by beau- 
tiful groves and parks. And the monotony 
of the forest was broken by the frequent 
sight of live oak, palmetto and other South- 
ern trees, till, late in the afternoon, we ran 
into Savannah. 

Savannah has been called a beautiful 
city. I don't know much about it, but 
what I saw did not impress me favorably. 
One thing I do know — I could tind better 
hotel accommodations even in Chicago, than 
were furnished me by the C. S. Government. 
We were corralled on some vacant lots, in 
the southern part of the city— almost out 
of town. 

Some of the boys escaped the guard and 
went into town, but they were caught and 
brought back the next day. They then 
loaded us on the cars— that had been kept 
ready for us all this time — and crossed the 
Ogeechee, a river that empties into the At 
lantic a short distance south of Savannah. 

This river meanders with sluggish cur- 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 145 

rent through vast marshes ahnost anywhere 
six or eight miles wide, and its broad, flat 
bottoms make the best rice-producing lands 
in Georgia. Immense plantations stretch 
awa}^ as far as the eye can reach. Nothing 
but rice-fields in sight. The planters who 
own these lands do not live on them. Even 
the slaves were not kept here except for 
short intervals wdiile caring for the crop. 
All have higher and dryer places in which 
to live. 

After crossing the river and its wide 
marshes, our train stopped in the side track 
at the first station. 

We had the blues. It would not be hard 
to guard us there. Suppose we slip out and 
escape our guard, that long trestle-work 
oter which we came will be closely guard- 
ed, and we cannot cross that swampy river. 
Such thoughts filled us with gloom. 

We remained at that station all the next 
day. A great number of trains i^assed that 
day, all going south or southwest. (We 
were on the Savannah & Gulf R. R.) Every 
train was loaded with household goods, live- 
stock and negroes. The passenger trains 
10 



146 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

were crowded, till every platform was full 
of men. All seemed excited and uneasy. 
We begged a daily paper, and found that 
Sherman was loose in Georgia. Then ive 
got excited. 

That explained our removal from Camp 
Lawton. We asked every one that passed, 
'^Where's Sherman?*' He was then in the 
heart of the State, not far from the prison 
we had left. Every time a train stopped at 
our station, we would salute its passengers 
with "John Brown.'' 

The rising generation will never appre- 
ciate that song. As sung by the soldiers, it 
had a power and unction never to be for- 
gotten. It was played and sung in eveiy 
conquered city of the South. Eveiy prison 
heard its melody. 

We were full of hope. We thought that 
when Sherman got through to the coast he 
would send his cavalry and release us. The 
night before, we were sad and cast down 
because of the vast swamps that lay be- 
tween us and home. That night we were 
full of hope and joy because we thought our 
forces were coming to our relief. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 147 

The next day we were taken farther 
down the road, and stopped at another sta- 
tion, the name of which I have forgotten; 
and the day following, we crossed the Alta- 
maha river and stopped at Blackshear 
station. This station is just north of the 
Okopinokee swamp, that covers three or 
four thousand square miles of the south- 
eastern corner of Georgia. The whole 
country, after crossing the Altamaha is the 
poorest and dreariest I ever saw. 

A series of swamps, ponds and sandy 
glades in endless monotony. Once in a 
while we would pass in sight of a habita- 
tion, three or four acres partly cleared bj^ 
deadening the large trees and cutting down 
the small growth. In the midst of these 
dead trees, a cabin of one room, with a mud 
chimney at one end, and a door on one side, 
no windows — didn't need any, as the cracks 
were unchinked — is a fair picture of an av- 
erage home in that part of the State. A 
corn patch, cultivated among the dead 
trees, and yielding not more than ten bush- 
els per acre, supplies the family with bread. 



148 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

A cotton patch clothes it, and the rifle and 
fishing-rod supply the rest. 

If the country looked flat, the citizens 
looked flatter. They are the class known 
in the South as the "Poor white trash/' 
against whom even the negro will curl his 
lip in contempt. 

A sample citizen, is tall, lean, flat-chest- 
ed, dull-eyed, pale-faced, and stoop-shoul- 
dered. He has a way of stretching his 
long, slim neck at almost a right angle with 
the general perpendicular of his body, 
which keeps his head a long way" in ad- 
vance. If he should carry an umbrella to 
protect his head from a rain, the water 
would run off of it down the back of his 

neck. 

I don't remember seeing a four-wheeled 
vehicle in that country, except the few 
army wagons that our guard had with 
them. We frequently saw two- wheeled 
carts, sometimes drawn by a yoke of oxen, 
sometimes by one horse, and in a few in- 
stances by one ox. We saw horses har- 
nessed to carts, with a collar of corn-husks 
and harness composed partly of hickory 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 149 

bark and withes. The driver rides the 
horse, putting his bare feet on the 
shafts, which serve as stirrups. This posi- 
tion brings his knees ahiiost on a level witli 
his horse's ears, and gives him quite a pic- 
turesque appearance. If he is taking his 
lady-love out for a ride, she sits fiat on the 
bottom of the cart, while he rides and 
guides the horse. Romantic — isn't it? 

Blackshear is a scrawny town. I believe 
it is a county-seat, but as I have described 
the county that sits there, I can let you 
imagine the seat. 

Almost starved and worn out, we landed 
here, were taken off the cars, and marched 
into the woods to a new prison. 



CHAPTER XVIIT. 



SENT BACK TO ANDERSONVILLE. 

In the pine woods, about a mile from 
Blackshear, we were corralled on about 
five acres of ground. 

There was no wall or fence to enclose us. 
A dead-line was staked off, and outside of it 
another row of stakes marked the line of 
sentinels, who stood about ten or fifteen 
steps apart, all around us, ready to shoot 
any one who x)assed the first row of stakes. 

Had there been nothing between us and 
liberty except that guard, we could have 
broken through and escaped; but the mem- 
(150) 



PRISON LIFE JN DIXIE. 151 

ory of those wide rivers and dreary swamps, 
and the fact that it was now winter, made 
us hesitate to run a gauntlet of hounds and 
patrohiien, and probable starvation. Then, 
too, the fact that they built no wall around 
us, and no quarters for themselves, made 
us think they did not intend to keep us 
there very long. 

We drew raw rations, about the same as 
at Millen prison; but a few of us improved 
them slightly by ''flanking." The trick of 
''flanking" a ration was not possible at 
Andersonville or Millen, where we were 
carefully counted into and out of the pen. 
But here we were all massed in the grove, 
and the guard placed around us, and then 
ordered to form into companies of one hun- 
dred to be counted for rations. One rebel 
sergeant had about ten of these companies 
to count and report. As soon as one squad 
had been counted and marked full, the 
"flanker" would drop out of line, and by 
careful dodging and skulking would take 
his place in another hundred, before the 
sergeant would get to it, and thus get 
himself counted again. Of course wherever 



152 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

he could succeed in being counted he took a 
"mess number," and drew a ration. When 
the rations came in he had to have a chum 
to assist him, and usually two or three 
divided the extra ration thus obtained. 

When we were counted onto the train to 
take us away, it w^as found that the number 
of men reported for rations exceeded the 
actual number in the pen about seven hun- 
dred. At least we were informed that such 
was the case by the rebels themselves. 

We had been in this place but a few days 
when we were informed that a special ex- 
change of ten thousand sick and wounded 
prisoners was ordered to take place imme- 
diately, and that two thousand were to be 
taken from our pen. This news threw us 
into a fever of excitement; and when, two 
days later they began to take out the num- 
ber, the law of self-preservation brought 
out the worst elements of human nature. 
Sick men, whose lives depended on their 
getting out, were cheated out of their 
chance, and some of the stoutest and heart- 
iest men there feigned sickness and wounds 
and got awaj^ They were taken to Savan- 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 158 

nah, where a part of them were exchanged 
about the middle of December. The re- 
mainder were sent back in a few days. 

One evening, just at dusk, about a thou- 
sand of us broke guard, and took to the 
woods. We thought to try to find the At- 
lantic coast, but we were soon caught and 
brought back. The enterprise failed so 
completely that it is scarcely worth the 
mention. I was one of those w^ho tried it. 
All the comfort we had was the satisfaction 
of making the Johnnies rattle around live- 
ly to overhaul us and get us back. 

We stayed at Blackshear about two 
weeks; I do not remember the exact time. 
We were then loaded on the cars and taken 
to Thomasville, wdiich is near the south- 
west corner of the State. Here we were 
corralled and guarded in the same manner 
as at Blackshear, 

I think the country around Thomasville 
is about as fine as can be found in Cleorgia. 
The soil is good, and the climate mild 
enough for figs to grow out of doors. 

We were left here about a week, wdien 
all who could walk were made to march 



154 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

sixty miles across the country to Albany. 
I do not know what became of the sick 
who could not walk. We never saw them 
-any more. 

On this march, Tom B , my old chum 

of the swamps, slipped his guard and went 
to a farm-house and got a square meal, and 
then told what manner of man he was, and 
let the old citizen arrest him and bring 
him back. 

At Albany we were crowded in and 
around the depot. Many of the citizens 
came down to see us and talk with us. The 
guard w^as kind, and allowed us to talk 
with them. Some were pleasant and agree- 
able, and others were ill-natured and quar- 
relsome. Some wanted to know what "You- 
alls want to fight we-uns for." Some ask- 
ed us to sing- a song, and we gave them 
'John Brown," with a chorus of three or 
four thousand voices. That song always 
touched the right spot. 

The next day two or three trains of cars 
backed in. We were soon aboard. Now, 
where? 

To Andersonville! 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 155 

On Christmas Day, The day of peace 
and good-will; when all the earth was glad- 
ness and song; when all were trying to seo> 
how much happiness they could enjoy and 
give; when there was feasting and merri- 
ment, and sweet surprises, in Chiistian 
homes! Yes, on that day, as if to make our 
lives blacker by the contrast of pleasant 
recollections, we were brought back to An- 
dersonville. 

About two o'clock p. m. we were counted 
through the double gate. Old Wirtz was 
there, cursing us as we entered. ''You 
come back! You flank me — I keep you," — 
blurting out short sentences and long 
oaths. 

About the flrst of October Tom and I had 
left that horrible pen, hoping never to see 
it again. After all our weary toil and 
changing scenes and prisons, we are back 
at last to the starting point! 

About ten thousand went to Blackshear. 
Some of them were exchanged; some died; 
some were left sick at Thomasville,^about 
seven thousand returned to Andersonville. 
A few sick ones had remained there all the 



156 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

time, but not many — perhaps two thousand. 
We all settled on the south side of the 
brook. The north side, that had contained 
a population of twenty thousand in the 
crowded period of August and September, 
contained but a few stragglers on the 1st 
of January. On the south side we were 
thickly settled, but not crowded as we 
were before. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



ANDERSONVILLE IN WINTER. 

It was now the dead of winter. It rained 
about foui^ days of a week, and was cloudy 
and damp nearly all the time. Heavy east 
winds prevailed. We seldom saw the sun 
shine. Our sack-tent, that never did keep 
the rain out, was now rotten and torn till 
we had to patch it nearly all over with such 
scraps of old shirts, pants, or blankets, as 
we could find. 

The rebel authorities allowed a detail of 
three men from each hundred to go out — 
under guard— to the woods to pick limbs 
(157) 



158 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

and 8ucli other pieces of wood as we could 
find, for fuel. There was an abundance of 
good wood all around us, but we had no 
axes with which to prepare it, and had to 
content ourselves with such scraps as old 
Time and Storm had prepared. The best 
of it was where pine logs had rotted and 
left the knots. These, being full of tar, 
burned freely in the dampest weather. 

In this way about two hundred men went 
out every daj- , and returned with an arm- 
full or a shoulder-load of wood. We soon 
picked up all that we could get, near the 
stockade, and had to go farther and farther 
into the woods. I think most of our wood 
was carried three-fourths of a mile. We 
were too Aveak to carry a large load so far, 
but we did our best. I know that when I 
got out I carried in a load that gave me 
the thumps. 

When we got our wood home, with a 
railroad spike for a wedge, and a pine knot 
for a maul, we split it; and broke it up fine 
so as to make it go as far as possible — and 
even then we were without wood most of 
the time. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 159 

Think of it! Three men from a hundred 
go out every day. If you get out to-day, it 
will be thirty-three days — or nearly five 
weeks — before your turn comes again! It 
would take a strong man to carry wood 
enough to keep him dry and warm for five 
weeks. 

Here, again, the strong took advantage 
of the week. If a man was sick and weak, 
some stronger man would give him a chew 
of tobacco, or a spoonful of rice, for his 
''turn" to go for wood. Then, with one- 
fourth his load of wood he could buy two or 
three times as much rice or tobacco as he 
paid for the ''turn;" and very likely in the 
course of a week or two, when a cold rain 
had fallen all night, you would find the 
weak man, in a hole in the sand, doubled 
up likea jackknife, chilled to death! 

Does some one say, ''That must have 
been a mean set in Andersonville, to treat 
each other sof Look around you. Even 
in the Northern States, I see the strong and 
shrewd taking advantage of the weak and 
simple. " Let him that is without sin cast 
the first stone." 



160 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

One way we had to keep warm, those 
damp, chilly days, was to dig a funnel- 
shaped hole in the sand, about four feet in 
diameter, and two feet deep. Four of us 
would sit in this hole. Our feet would be 
together in the bottom; our knees together 
in the center; then leaning forward till our 
heads were almost together, we would 
spread our blanket over the pile, and draw 
it down close to the edges — thus keeping 
in the heat of our bodies and the warmth 
of our breath. I have sat in such a hole 
frequently all day, except time enough to 
draw and eat my rations. Some dug these 
holes larger and deeper than the one I 
have described, and eight or ten would 
get into them. 

Those were dreary days. It rained al- 
most constantly during January. There 
was plenty of timber all around us. We 
would have gladly cut and carried it, and 
built huts and fires. There is no apology 
for not letting us do so. Hundreds chilled 
to death for want of them. They were mur- 
dered — brutally, in cold blood! 

Once in a while we would have a clear 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 161 

day, and we would diy our clothes and 
blankets, take down our tents, and let the 
sun dry the sand on which we slept, pull off 
our clothes and kill the vermin on them — 
and feel comparatively comfortable and 
happy. 

About the first of January a few prisoners 
were brought in, who told us that Sherman 
had reached the sea, at Savannah, and had 
turned northward into Carolina. So the 
last lingering hope that he would rescue us 
died within us. A few days later a squad 
of prisoners came in from the western 
division of the ^rmj, and brought the news 
of the battle of Nashville, and told us how 
'^ Pap " Thomas had utterly crushed Hood's 
army. Among these prisoners, was one 
called ''Old Beard"— a nomnie de (pierre — of 
my own regiment. He brought us much 
news from our comrades who escaped when 
we were captured, and gave us a history of 
subsequent campaigns, such as only one 
soldier can give to another. 

This was the last reliable news we re- 
ceived till it was all over. I can't describe 
11 



162 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

the suspense, the anxiet}^, that almost con- 
sumed us, and I will not try. 

During the winter the guard relaxed 
much of its sternness and rigor, and many 
of the men who composed it Avere willing 
to enter into conversation and traffic Avith 
us, when their officers were not in sight. 
This gave rise to several manufacturing 
industries. One was carving pipes. Some 
of the boys, when they got out for wood, 
would dig greenbriar-roots, and from these, 
and other kinds of wood, finelj^-carved pipes 
were made. Frequently two or three weeks' 
labor was expended on a single pipe, which 
was then sold for a half gallon of '' nigger 
peas," a quart of meal, or three dollars 
^'Confed." 

Another branch of business was carving 
toothpicks. These were made from the 
bones of meat that we drew, and, like the 
pipes, they were valuable in proportion to 
the amount of labor bestowed on them. 

Bob Mc ■ made toothpicks. His kit of 

tools consisted of a piece of an old case- 
knife, one side of it cut full of notches for a 
saw; a brick-bat, which he used for grind- 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 163 

stone, file, and polisher; and a piece ot 
coarse needle fastened into a bone handle, 
and ground flat-pointed, which served as a 
drill or boring machine. With such a set 
of tools, if he had favorable weather, he 
could turn out two good toothpicks per 
month. 

■ Still another branch of business ( ?) car- 
ried on at this time, was "raising" Confed- 
erate notes. Confederate money was poor- 
ly made, both in design and execution. 
The "ones" and "twos," and "tens" and 
"twenties" were almost alike, except in 
the figures that told their denomination. 
If a man could get a one or two-dollar bill, 
he knew where to take it and have it con- 
verted into a ten or twenty — "All work 
done in the best style of art and warranted 
to x)ass." In buying beans or meal with 
this money, we always aimed to trade so as 
to get one or two small bills in change so 
that we could make another " raise." I ex- 
pect that good brother who thought we 
stole the sacks from the quartermaster, will 
think this looks like counterfeiting. It does 
look that way, and had those Yanks been 



164 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

caught at it, they might have been sent to 
Andersonville! — the worst imprisonment I 
can think of — and sentenced to remain 
there as long as Confederate money had a 
value. 



CHAPTER XX, 



THE GENERAL EXCHANGE. 

During the month of February the rebels 
furnished material, and detailed a lot of 
prisoners — giving them extra rations — ^and 
had three sheds erected. 

These sheds were about twenty-five feet 
wide, by one hundred and fifty long; about 
five feet high at the eaves, and ten or 
twelve feet high in the center — roofed 
with boards, and left open on all sides. 
They were designed for a shelter for those 
who had no blankets or tents of any kind; 
and during a hard rain one thousand men 
(165) 



166 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

would crowd under each shed. When it 
was not raining most of the men preferred 
to remain outside, on account of the ver- 
niin^especially fleas — which were so much 
worse in the dry sand under these roofs 
than in other parts of the prison. 

In the different narratives of Anderson- 
ville prison life, I have never seen any ac- 
count of the building of these sheds; but I 
am glad to give to the notorious Winder 
and Wirtz credit for this much humanity. 
Perhaps the reader thinks it was no great 
thing to build such sheds. True. And yet 
they were a blessing to a number of 
wretched prisoners who were almost naked, 
and had there been more of them, and had 
they been built in the fall, they would have 
saved many lives. 

Thus the winter wore away. March 
came; and looking over the stockade to- 
ward the forest, we could see the burst 
buds and tender leaves, telling of spring- 
time and a new year. We heard no news 
from the war, in which we were so 
intensely interested. What was Grant 
doing? Where was Sherman? What had 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 167 

become of Thomas since his victory at 
Nashville? These questions v^ere often 
asked— but as they were never answered, 
to ask them only intensified our sadness. 

But the great question — the one that 
took precedence over all others, was: Why 
don't our Government exchange prisoners 
and get us out? 

It was a hard strain on our patriotism 
to feel that we were neglected by our own 
Government. For we believed then, as we 
learned certainly afterward, that we could 
have been exchanged had those in charge 
of our armies so desired. 

Many of the men lying on the wet ground 
by night, and sitting on it by day, had con- 
tracted colds, that settled on their lungs. 
Hundreds had that peculiar cough and that 
brightness of the cheek and eye, that told 
us that consumption had set in; and that 
if they were not soon exchanged they 
would be beyond the reach of cartel. Many 
who had despaired of ever getting well, 
were anxious to go home that they might 
die among friends. 

One day, early in March, an order was 



168 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

read at the gate, that declared that a gen- 
eral exchange of prisoners had been agreed 
upon, and that they would begin at once, 
and empty the prisons in Virginia and Car- 
olina first, and would probably reach An- 
derson ville in two weeks, or ten days. 

This news threw the camp into a wild 
excitement, though I must confess that 
many of us did not believe it. We had 
been deceived too often, and this sounded 
so good that we suspected it was being 
done to make us docile while they were 
moving us somewhere else. 

But in a few days they gave us copies of 
papers that contained accounts - of the re- 
lease of prisoners from Richmond and Sauls- 
bury. Then we began to believe and to 
grow feverish with excitement. 

In due time rebel officers came in and 
began to enroll names, putting down rank 
and regiment. The first call was to take 
out all the sick: but they gave us the wink, 
and told us that if any one had any green- 
backs, or gold, they would enroll him as 
sick, and take him out on the first train. 

John C — , Cudge S — and I were partners 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 169 

in the sack-tent, and had been bunk-mates 
during the whole of our prison life, except 
when I ran away. 

John had a gold breast-pin that cost 
two or three dollars before the war, 
which somehow had escaped all the search- 
ings and had remained in his possession till 
then. He took it out of its hiding-place, 
examined and polished it, and said, ''Boys, 
I am going to see what I can do with this; 
for as likely as not they will not get out 
more than two or three train-loads till 
something will happen to break the cartel, 
and we will be left again." 

He went; but soon came back with the 
news that they had all they could take that 
day. But they told him there would be 
another train in a day or two. 

So we had to wait a day or two. Then 
they came again, and John went to buy his 
liberty with the breast-pin. He came back 
and said — 

^' Boys, I tried to take you both out on 
my breast-pin, but couldn't. I can take 
one — which shall it be?" 

Cudge and I looked at each other, and 



170 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

both sprang to our feet. As soon as we 
could speak without choking, we both told 
him we would leave it to him. We all 
three sat down and began to talk of home — 
how long it would take to go; how glad we 
would be to get there; how glad others 
would be to see us returned at last, alive! 
Oh, those dear ones! Could it be possible 
that we would see them once more! We 
talked rapidly — excitedly — almost wildly; 
but every little while Cudge and I would 
look at each other and choke down. We 
knew that one must remain behind, for 
only one could go. I went away for a short 
time, and when I returned John looked at 
me and said, 

" I reckon I will take Cudge.'^ 

" So you leave me to die and rot by my- 
self!" 

They both tried to cheer me, by telling 
me that I would soon follow them; but I 
wouldn't be cheered — I knew something 
would happen; the exchange would be 
stopped, and I would languish and die. I 
felt very much as I did when I was recap- 
tured after my run-away. 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 171 

With a heart full of gloomy forebodings 
and bitterness, I went with them to the 
gate. I made Cudge promise to write a 
letter to my folks at home, telling them 
that I was alive at that date. I told him 
to fix it up as good as he could, so as not to 
cause mother more sorrow than was actual- 
ly necessary. 

The whole prison was crowded around 
the gate; and as the names were called by a 
loud-voiced rebel, some countenance would 
light up with joy as he answered, "Here!'' 
and you would see him struggle through 
the crowd to the gate and disappear through 
the wicket. 

We three stood together, near the dead- 
line. "John Carey!" called the reb. Here! — 
and he was through the wicket before I 
could look at him. "Allen Spencer!" Here! 
Cudge gave me his hand: "Good-bye, Oats." 
"Good-bye, Cudge," — and he slipped through 
the wicket and the door swung to. 

I staggered back through the crowd. 
They were gone! I had no farther interest 
in the gate or in the crowd. I was alone! 
My comrades had left me to die! Blinded 



172 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

by my tears, and sick through the intensity 
of my feelings, I reached our tent — nuj tent, 
now — and lay down. 

Our talk of home had given me the blues. 
I could see nothing but darkness and sor- 
row, misery and death! I was unreason- 
able — mad at everything and everybody, 
because I could not get out. Like Job's 
wife, I was ready to ^' curse God and die." 

But I got over it in a day or two. How 
do we get down and up under the trials and 
disappointments of life? Who can tell? 

The prisoners were taken to Vicksburg, 
Mississippi, for exchange. There was one 
train-load taken after the one that took my 
comrades. Then came word that Wilson's 
Cavalry (IT. S.) had raided through Missis- 
sippi and Alabama, and destroyed the rail- 
road over which they were shipping the 
prisoners, so the exchange was stopped. 

About eight thousand came from Black- 
shear — and about four thousand remained 
when Wilon's raid stopped the exchange. 



CHAPTER XXI, 



OUR LAST PRISON. 



For two weeks after the exchange was 
stopped, our excitement was kept at white 
heat by rumors of Wilson's raid. At first, 
he was in Mississippi; next we heard ru- 
mors of his movements in Alabama. He 
was coming toward us, and we began to 
feel confident that instead of being ex- 
changed we would be released. This filled 
us with hope and put us in fine spirits. 
The whole camp seemed cheerful, and con- 
fident that we would soon get out, in some 
way. 

(173) 



174 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

After my chums left me I went into part- 
nership with Bob Mc— , a man who belong- 
ed to the same company that I did. He 
was captured at Chicamauga, in September, 
1863; was taken to Richmond, spent the 
winter on Belle Isle; was taken from there 
to Danville, Va., and thence to Anderson- 
ville. He stood seventeen months of prison 
life — they couldn't kill him! He was a 
short, thick-set man, thirty-eight or forty 
years of age. He was quite bald-headed; 
and had had the scurvy for almost a year. 
During the crowded term of 1864, he was 
taken to the tent hospital, outside the 
stockade. He was almost dead then, but 
he ate sumac-berries freely, and got better; 
so much better, that he and a comrade 
started one night to run away. 

It was a poor run. They became entan- 
gled in the swamps, and only got five or six 
miles. The next day they were missed. 
The Andersonville pack of hounds were 
turned loose, and they were treed before 
night. For this grave sin of trying to get 
away, Bob was put in the stocks! They 
had a number of these implements of tor- 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 175 

ture in front of Wirtz's quarters. The 
peculiar style of the set in which Bob was 
fastened, was a strong frame, with four 
posts securing the ends of two heavy tim- 
bers, like joists; in each of these was a semi- 
circular notch. The joists were brought 
together horizontally so as to fit the notches 
around a man's neck, and fastened there by 
keys at the ends. They were then lowered 
so as to depress the body about three inches 
lower than its natural position — so that the 
victim could neither straighten up nor sit 
down. 

The next morning after Bob's recapture, 
his neck was fastened in this machine, and 
he stood in this painful position twelve hours. 
It was a hot day in September, and the sun 
poured his burning rays upon Bob's bare 
bald head all day. 

They did not give him a bite to eat nor a 
drop to drink during the twelve hours, al= 
though he begged piteously for water. 
About two o'clock, the sun baking his head 
caused him to become unconscious for an 
instant, and his legs gave way; the back of 
his head and his chin struck the timbers 



176 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

with a crack that brought him to conscious- 
ness suddenly, and made him think for a 
moment that his neck was broken. Though 
his ]Door, scurvied limbs ached as if they 
would break, he stood it until sunset. He 
was then released, received a ration of 
bread, and was turned into the stockade. 

Bob was a jolly, good-natured fellow to 
be with; and by the partnership, we had a 
pretty fair equipment — for Andersonville. 
I had my tent, my half blanket, my pan, 
that I made out of the car-roofing, and a 
railroad-spike. Bob had a tent as good 
as mine, which we spread over mine, and 
as the holes hardly ever came in both at 
the same place one patched the other brave- 
ly. He had a wooden bucket which he 
had made, that would hold a quart; an old 
sock, which we used for a meal-sack when 
we drew our rations; it was one of those 
old regulation woolen socks, but it proved 
to be a very useful article in our household 
economy. Then he had his toothpick tools, 
and we became partners in that industry. 

About four o'clock one day, toward the 
last of March, two long trains stopped at 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 177 

the station. A guard was detailed in a 
hurry. The counting-sergeants came in 
and ordered us to get ready to go out at 
once. 

"How many are you going to take?" 

" Every has to be out a-foah 

mawnin'!" 

We guessed at once that Wilson was com- 
ing our way, so we asked— 

"Where's Wilson's raiders?" 

He answered in one long word that 
sounded like, "Damifino!" — which we inter- 
preted to mean that he didn't wish to tell. 

We passed the word around our part of 
the prison, "Let's take the last train, and 
may be Wilson will catch us." They hur- 
ried us all they could. The first train was 
loaded, and pulled out about sunset. Ours 
did not get loaded till after dark. They 
would count off eighty men, and crowd 
them up to a car door, and keep saying — 
"Hurry up, dah! hurry up, dah!" 

Our old chum, Tom, with whom the read- 
er is well acquainted, was in the midst of 
such a squad, and instead of climbing into 
the car he crept under it, and passing under 



178 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

the depot building, got left. He kept him- 
self hid till Wilson came, and so he got 
away and found his regiment. 

In our train were five flat-cars, contain- 
ing about three hundred prisoners. I was 
on one of these. They were well to the 
rear of the train, with perhaps two or three 
box-cars and a caboose behind. The guard 
did not seem to fancy these flats, so most 
of them climbed onto the box-cars ahead of 
us. Soon after we started, some one dis- 
covered that there were but three guards 
on the five flats, and conceived the bold 
project of cutting the train and giving them 
the grand bounce. The plan was, to un- 
couple the rear boxes, and as soon as they 
were sufliciently to the rear —a mile or so — 
to then uncouple the flats; and as soon as 
they stopped, to jump off" and take to the 
woods. We knew that those three guards 
could not stop us, even if they tried. 

Going down a grade, the pin was drawn; 
and we soon saw the space widen, and the 
rear cars grew dim in the distance. Now 
for another little grade, and then — 

But our guard was too vigilant. One of 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 179 

those on the flats discovered that the rear 
was gone, and by running over us and jump- 
ing from car to car, he managed to alarm 
the guard on the boxes ahead of us, and 
soon had two men guarding each coupling. 
But the train ran about four miles before 
they made the engineer understand that he 
had lost a part of his train. He then ran 
on to tlie first station, and left us while he 
went back for the rear. 

The Johnnies were badly scared, and ter- 
ribly indignant at this delay. The officer 
in command flourished his pistol around us, 
and swore that if he knew who uncoupled 
the train he would shoot him ! But he did 
not know. It filled us with exultation and 
happiness to see the rebs so uneasy. 

About daylight we ran into Macon, and 
stopped, but they did not take us off' the 
cars. From our train we could see up into 
the business part of town, and noticed a 
number of large, white flags floating over 
the principal houses. We asked a negro 
what they were for, and he said — 

"Specks de Yanks is comin'!" 

The officers in charge of us held a hurried 



180 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

consultation with the authorities. The en- 
gine was turned around and hitched to the 
other end of our train, and by eight o'clock 
we were steaming away down the same 
road we came up the night before. What 
did they mean— taking us back to Ander- 
sonville? 

About two or three o'clock p. m. we pass- 
ed Andersonville, and from the cars we 
took our last look at that pen of woe. They 
took us to Albany — to Thomasville, over 
the same route that we came in December. 
"Where are we going?" The rebs told us 
that they were taking us around that way 
to Savannah, to exchange us — but, as usual, 
they lied. 

They took us eastward from Thomasville 
to a junction, the name of which I have 
forgotten. There we took another road, 
and ran southward till we struck the Jack- 
sonville & Tallehasse railroad, thence east- 
ward again till we reached Lake City, 
Florida. 

In sight of the railroad, about four miles 
east of Lake City, on an island — or more 
properly, a peninsula — in a vast cypress 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 181 

swamp, we were corralled for the last time. 
Our prison was a palmetto-covered knoll, of 
about two acres area, surrounded on all 
sides by swamp and water, except a narrow 
low neck across which a corduroy road con- 
nected us with the main land. 

Here we had plenty of fuel. Pine and 
cypress logs lay in rich abundance all 
about us. When we were there, during 
April, the weather was warm and dry. The 
trees were full of foliage, and all looked 
like summer-time. The weather was so 
pleasant that we hardly needed clothing. 

I had gone w^ithout a shirt all winter, 
using my blouse instead. It had now be- 
come so rotten and ragged that it was not 
worth picking the lice off for all the protec- 
tion it afforded, so I threw it away. My 
wardrobe then consisted of pants, ending 
in a neat (?) fringe about the knee, and a 
leathern gun-sling, which did dut}^ as a sus- 
pender. From the waist, upward, I was 
smoked and tanned to the complexion of 
well-cured bacon. 

Do not think that I was not as well- 
dressed as was fashionable, for the poor did 



182 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

not enjoy a gun-sling to hold their pants 
up. Bob had a pair of pants, and a shirt, 
minus the sleeves, that he had made out of 
a blouse and piece of sack; he also had a 
piece of pants-leg, which he used for a hat. 
He would pull one end of it on his head, 
and throwing the other end backward, he 
looked like a Grand Turk in full dress. 

While we were in this prison our rations 
consisted of a pint of meal per day. We 
were there one month, and drew nothing 
but meal during our stay--we did not even 
draw salt to season it. Bob and I made 
ours into mush most of the time. There 
was plenty of it, such as it was. One day 
one of the guards shot an alligator, about 
eight feet long, which he gave to the pris- 
oners. Some of the boys tried steaks off of 
its tail. That was the only meat eaten in 
that prison. 



CHAPTER XXII. 



"the star-spangled banner/' 



It was the last of April, 1865. Thirty- 
three hundred prisoners were encamped 
on that little island. The quartermaster 
brought in our rations, and we noticed 
more sacks than usual. What does it 
mean? The old quartermaster gave a 
knowing wink, and said he was going to 
fatten us. We wisely guessed that they 
were going to move us. 

The rations measured out three pints of 
meal per man. Bob and I had our sock 
full, shook down, and packed — and then had 
(183) 



184 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

to take part of our rations in his bucket. 

Next morning we were up by times, and 
were soon all ready and waiting to see 
what would happen. Soon a train of cars 
came down. We were loaded on, and went 
eastward a few miles — as far as the rails 
were laid, as the iron had been taken off 
this road, to mend others, nearly all the 
way from Jacksonville to Lake City. 

When we got to the end of the railroad 
we were ordered off the cars, and marched 
out on the old road bed ahead of the en- 
gine. The colonel who had command of 
our guard then made us a speech. 

He told us that they were tired of guard- 
ing us. They knew our time was out, and 
that we were anxious to get home. They 
were going to the front to fight, and so had 
decided to turn us loose. He advised us to 
go home, and stay there; and to tell our 
friends at the !N^orth that we ^' could never 
whip the rebels in the world!" He told us 
to follow the railroad-bed and it would take 
us to Jacksonville — which was in possession 
of the Yanks. 

This is the substance of his speech, al- 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 185 

though he embellished it with much boast- 
ing and many oaths. 

The whole speech was a lie. He v/as in- 
cluded in Johnson's surrrender to Sherman, 
and was then under orders to go to Talle- 
hasse to turn over his arms to the United 
States authorities. This we learned after 
we got out. 

After this speech the guard opened ranks, 
and we marched out. "Good-bye, John- 
nies!" "Good-bye, Yanks!" — were the part- 
ing salutations. 

Were we really free? Could we go or 
stop, as we pleased? It was like a dream! 
It was so sudden — so unexpected. Our 
minds were not prepared for it. We could 
hardly realize it. We felt like shouting! 
A great load had been suddenly lifted — but 
how? What had become of it? 

I do not remember how far we had to 
travel. It seems like it Avas forty-two miles 
from our camp to Jacksonville; but I can't 
remember how far they took us on the cars. 
I think it was eight or ten miles, but am 
not sure. 

In our excitement at being turned loose 



186 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

we started off at too rapid a rate. Soon the 
sick ones began to fall by the way. Some 
went a mile and gave out; some two or 
three, and failed; others ii\e or six — and so 
we were strung out all along the road. 
Bob and I kept well up with the head of 
the column. Bob was lame with scurvy in 
his limbs, but he was plucky; and I, being 
in fair health, carried his baggage. 

We went as far as we could that day, and 
hid in the palmettos at night. We were 
actually afraid the rebels would change 
their minds, and come on and overtake us; 
hence we hid carefully. 

The next morning we were up bright and 
early. A goodly number of us were on the 
road, trudging eastward, by sun-up. About 
noon we came to a creek, whose waters 
bore the dark tea-color of the swamp. As 
it flowed smoothly over a sandy bed, and 
we were tired, we stopped and bathed, and 
were much refreshed. 

About the middle of the afternoon we 
saw an object that looked like a man on 
horseback, a mile or so down the road. 
When we came nearer it was arone. We 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 187 

came to the place and there, sure enough, 
was the sign of a picket-post. But what 
had become of him? We did not go far till 
we saw a troop of cavalry coming toward 
us. They were too far for us to distinguish 
their uniform, so we halted. Stragglers 
kept closing up till we had quite a com- 
pany, uncertain what to do. 

The cavalry halted, and drew up in line. 
Then two men were sent toward us to see 
what we were. They doubtless judged by 
our unmilitary appearance that we were 
not very formidable. When the two sol- 
diers came near enough for us to see their 
uniform, a wild shout rent the air. It was 
taken up by stragglers in the rear, and car- 
ried to others still farther back — to be re- 
peated again and again,— giving new vigor 
to weary limbs that had almost refused to 
do duty longer. That shout doubtless 
reached three or four miles back along 
that road. 

Yes^ sir! It was the United States uni- 
form! 

I have seen a good many fine clothes in 
my life — but I never saw anything, before 



188 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

or since, that looked so pretty as those 
cavahy jackets! 

We started toward them at once, and 
went to where the troop was waiting. If 
we were glad to see their clothes, they were 
mad when they saw onrs. 

When the commander of that troop found 
out who we were, and looked at our rags 
and our wretchedness, he stood up in his 
stirrups and swore a terrible oath of venge- 
ance. And scarcely one of those bearded, 
swarthy troopers but turned away his face 
to hide the tears that would come up, as 
he looked in amazement at our haggard 
countenances, meager skeletons and filthy 
rags. 

The cajDtain told us that it was but three 
miles to Jacksonville, and that he would go 
and have tents and rations ready for us. 

We came to the infantry picket-line, and 
there dropped down for a few minutes' 
rest. There were probably three hundred 
of us together, forming the head of our col- 
umn. While we were resting we asked the 
officer of the guard for news, and he told us 
that Richmond had fallen, — that Lee had 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 189 

surrendered, — that Johnson had surrender- 
ed to Sherman,— that the Confederacy had 
gone to staves, and that Lincoln was dead! 

It is no use trying to describe the effect 
of this news on men in our condition. My 
readers would not understand it — language 
is too feeble. 

We did not need rest after we heard the 
news. We were not a bit tired. We arose 
and started toward the town, which was 
yet three-fourths of a mile distant. 

About half way to town we met a '' field 
band" and "colors." We were wild enough 
before, but when we met the flag we went 
stark, raving crazy. If we had all been 
drunk on laughing gas, we would not have 
acted worse. Old scurvied fellows who 
could not straighten a limb danced around 
like puppets and kicked the sand twenty 
feet high. Some cried — some laughed — 
some danced — some sung — some prayed — 
some swore. It was a wonderful medley. 
We had divers gifts, but the same spirit. 

One tall, ragged skeleton began trying to 
sing — 

" Wrap the flag around me, boys," 



190 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

and, reaching out his gaunt, fleshless arms, 
he caught the folds of the flag, and began 
to wind it about his vermin-eaten shoul- 
ders. Another, and another, joined in the 
song, and caught at the flag, till soon they 
had it trailing on the ground, with from 
twenty to fifty boys sprawling under and 
over it. 

The band stopped j)laying, and gazed in 
amazement at the treatment their flag was 
receiving. Those not engaged in the flag- 
scuffle, noticing that the music had stopped, 
gathered handfulls of sand, and, throwing 
it on the band, told them to give us " The 
Star-Spangled Banner" or we would bury 
them right there. 

The band commenced to play the music, 
and the boys to sing the words. They got 
on somehow until they reached — 

"O, say, does the star-spangled banner yet wave?'' 

when, raising one wild whoop, they rushed 
to the band, upsetting one another in the 
sand, silencing the music, scattering the 
drummers, and yelling — "This is God's 
country!" 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 191 

Yes, T remember it all; but, reader, you 
will not see it in my tame description. If 
1 could paint for you the untrimmed, tan- 
gled hair, that hung in matted tags or stood 
out in all directions above brows that had 
once been noble and fair, but were now all 
blotched and stained by disease; if I could 
paint the hollow cheek, the dull eyes, the 
fleshless limbs, hands like birds' claws — the 
filthy, vermin-eaten rags; and could then 
put my picture through all the contortions 
of unrestrained motion, — ^even then, you 
could not see all that is in my memory. 

As soon as sense returned, we were told 
to turn to the left and cross a little creek, 
beyond which we would camp. We came 
to the creek, found a box of soap on the 
bank, and with the shout — '^ This is God's 
country, for here's soaj)!" — more than a 
hundred men, each with a bar in his hand, 
plunged into the stream and tried to turn 
it into soapsuds. 



CHAPTER. XXIIL 



HOMEWARD BOUND 



The place selected for our camp was a 
side-hill pasture, with a few trees scattered 
over it for shade. The military authorities 
had made the best preparation they could, 
in the brief time since the captain of caval- 
ry had reported us. 

A load of hospital tents had been hauled 
out and distributed for our use, but we did 
not put them up that night. We did not 
need them. Bob and I carried one up un- 
der a tree and folded it to lie on. 

It was about sun-set when we reached our 
(192) 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE, 193 

camping-ground. Stragglers kept coming 
in till ten o'clock, when, of the thirty-three 
hundred that had been turned loose, about 
seven hundred had reached our lines. 

Just before dark a wagon came loaded 
with bread — the first wheat bread we had 
seen in a long time. We got a loaf apiece 
and ate it. Then came four barrels of 
boiled meat — the kind known to the trade 
as "mess pork/' but known to the soldiers 
by a different name. We secured a good 
piece of that, and ate it. Then came coffee 
by the barrel. We took our old bucket and 
drew a quart of that, and drank it. 

Then Bob said he wouldn't go down the 
hill again, no matter what they brought. 
Presently the cry was raised, " They are 
issuing whiskey." I proposed to Bob that 
we go and get our share, but he said he was 
too tired. I then told him I would go and 
draw his ration, and bring it to him. I 
went, told the man I had a '^ pard " who 
was sick, and drew both rations in our 
bucket, and went back. When I got to our 
tree. Bob was gone, so I set the whiskey 
down to wait till he came. Soon he came 
13 



194 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

limping up the hill After I had gone, he 
became anxious, for fear they would not 
give me his ration, so he limped down, took 
his turn, and had drawn and drank his 
^gill/ We made equitable division of what 
was in the cup, and thus had three gills to 
two men. 

We had travelled about twenty miles 
that day, and ought to have been tired, but 
the excitement, the pork, the coflPee and the 
whiskey, took away all drowsiness. We 
sat -and talked of home, and what we would 
do when we got there, till far into the 
night. Finally we decided that we must 
sleep, or we would not be fit for anything 
next day. So we lay down and remained 
silent a good while, but I never was wider 
awake in my life. Bob lay so still that I 
could not tell whether he was asleep or not, 
so I whispered softly, "Bob!" 

"What.do you want?" 

" I can't sleep." 

" Neither can I." 

After awhile we decided that we must go 
to sleep. 

We lay quite still for a long time. Sud- 



PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 195 

denly Bob arose to a sitting posture, and 
gathering our sock, which still contained 
about a pint of meal, he called out, ''Oats! 
Here goes the last of the CoHfederacyy and 
taking the sock by the toe, he began to 
swing it around his head, strewing the meal 
all over me, himself, and our tent. That 
put sleep out of the question, so we got up 
and chatted, till we heard the Ijugle across 
the creek, blow reveille. 

When it was day, we found that eleven 
of those who had struggled so bravely to 
keep up, and had greeted the flag with the 
head of the column, were dead. 

That mother and sister, waiting in their 
darkened northern home, may never know 
how hard their dear one tried to come, nor 
how he almost succeeded. 

A train of wagons and ambulances, with 
surgeons and nurses, went out on our back 
track, to look after those who had given 
out by the way. 

It took them three days to go and return. 
They found a good many who, with a little 
help, were able to straggle into camp; 
some who were past walking, some dying — 



196 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

and some already dead. They were scat- 
tered along the entire road, to where we 
were turned out. The dead were buried, 
and the living brought in and cared for. 

We stayed in Jacksonville about three 
weeks. During this time we drew new 
clothes, had our hair trimmed, beards 
shaved, and changed till we hardly knew 
each other. We were then put on a steam 
boat and taken to Fernandina, where we 
were put on an ocean steamer, called "Cas- 
sandra." 

That evening we steamed out upon the 
Atlantic, and began to enjoy (?) a sea voy- 
age. We put in at Port Royal, and took 
aboard a large lot of ice, and four or five 
nice military officers. We asked those who 
loaded the ice, what it was for, and they 
told us it was furnished by the Sanitary 
Commission, for the sick soldiers. We sup- 
posed that meant us — but we soon found 
we were mistaken. It was kept in a re- 
frigerator built on purpose, that opened on 
the top deck, and was securely locked up. 
They expected it to be kept for the use of 
the ship's officers and those nice military 



PRISON LIFE IX DIXIE. 197 

fellows in the cabin. We thought it a clear 
ease of misappropriation. The next morn- 
ing when the steward went to get a piece, 
to fix up mint-slings, and such luxuries, he 
found the door wide open and the ice all 
gone. 

You guess! 

In three or four days we reached Fortress 
Monroe. Then Annapolis, where we dis- 
embarked. Then over the Baltimore & 
Ohio railroad to Camp Chase, Ohio — where 
we were discharged on the 16th of June. 
Then home. 

I was to my folks as one from the dead. 
They had given me up. Mother told me 
that she would never be any surer that I 
was dead, unless I should die at home, than 
she had been. What a time we had. There 
were no dry eyes. 

Does the reader ask what became of my 
old comrades, Cudge and John? They were 
murdered by an agent of the United States 
Government. They got to Vicksburg, and 
were exchanged all right, and were to be 
sent North for discharge. 

The steamboat "Sultana"' was at the 



198 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 

landing. If she had been in good condition, 
^ve or six hundred men would have been a 
good load for her; but the inspectors had 
condemned her as unsafe. Yet in the face 
of this fact, the agent was induced by some 
means to give her the extraordinary load 
of eicjJdeeii hundred human beings! She did 
not run far, till she exploded and burned 
up. Nearly all on board perished. 

Charley Higgins, of my company, one of 
the few survivors of that catastrophe, told 
me this: John, Cudge, and himself had lain 
down betAveen the engines; Charley in the 
rear, John in the middle, and Cudge in 
front, or next to the boilers. When the 
boilers burst, Charley and John sprang up; 
but seeing Cudge lie still, Charley ran to 
him and took hold of him to help him up. 
But something had struck and killed him! 
John and Charley then ran and jumped 
into the river among the hundreds of strug- 
gling mortals. Charley was picked up 
about live miles below, swimming and 
floating with the current. John was never 
found. 



SPEECH OF GEN. GARFIELD 

AT THE ANDERSONVILLE REUNION, AT TOLEDO. 
OHIO, OCTOBER 3, 1879. 

'^My Comrades, Ladies and Gentlemen: 
I have addressed a great many audiences, 
but I never before stood in the presence of 
one that I felt so w^holly unv^^orthy to speak 
to. A man who came through the war 
without being shot or made a prisoner, is 
ahnost out of phice in such an assemblage 
as this. While 1 have listened to you this 
evening I have remembered the words of a 
distinguished English gentleman, who once 
said that ' he was willing to die for his coun- 
try, but he would not do a mean act to save 
both his king and his country.' Now, to say 
that a man is willing to die for his country, 
is a good deal; but these men who sit be- 
(199) 



200 SPEECH OF GEN. GARFIELD. 

fore us have said a great deal more than 
that. I would like to know where the man 
is that would calmly step out on the plat- 
form and say, *I am ready to starve to death 
for my country!' That is an enormous 
thing to say; but there is a harder thing 
than that. Find a man, if you can, 
who will walk out before this audience and 
say, ' 1 am willing to become an idiot for 
my country!' How many men could you 
Hnd who would volunteer to become idiots 
for life for their country? Now, let me 
make this statement to you, fellow-citizens: 
One hundred and eighty-eight thousand 
such men as this were captured by the reb- 
els who were fighting our Government. 

"One hundred and eighty-eight thousand! 
How many is that? They tell me there are 
four thousand five hundred men and women 
in this building to-night. Multiply this 
mighty audience by forty and you will have 
about one hundred and eighty-eight thou- 
sand. Forty times this great audience were 
prisoners of war to the enemies of our coun- 
try. And to every man of that enormous 
company there stood open night and day 
the oft'er — 'If you will join the Rebel army, 
and lift up your hand against your flag, you 
are free!'" 

A voice-'' That's so!" 



SPEECH OF GEN. GARFIELD. 201 

Clen. Garfield — '' 'And you shall have food. 
and you shall have clothing, and you shall 
see wife, and mother, and child.' " 

A voice — "We didn't do it, though.'' 

Gen. Garfield — ^'"And do you know that 
out of that one hundred and eighty-eight 
thousand there were less than three thou- 
sand who accepted the offer? And of those 
three thousand, perhaps nine-tenths of them 
did it with the mental reservation that they 
would desert at the earliest hour — the first 
moment there was an opportunity." 

A voice — "That's so." 

Gen. Garfield — "But one hundred and 
eighty-five thousand out of the one hundred 
and eighty-eight thousand said, ' No ! not to 
see wife again; not to see child again; not 
to avoid starvation; not to avoid idiocy; 
not to avoid the most loathsome of loath- 
some deaths, will I lift this hand of mine 
against my country, forever!' Now, we 
praise the ladies for their patriotism; we 
praise our good citizens at home for their 
patriotism; we praise the gallant soldiers 
who fought and fell. But what were all 
these things compared with that yonder? I 
bow in reverence. I would stand with un- 
sandaled feet in the presence of such hero- 
ism and such suffering; and I would say to 
you, fellow-citizens, such an assemblage as 



202 SPEECH OF GEN. GARFIELD. 

this has never yet before met on this great 
earth! 

''Who have reunions? I will not trench 
npon forbidden ground, but let me say this: 
Nothing on the earth and under the sky 
can call men together for reunions except 
ideas that have iuimortal truth and immor- 
tal life in them. The animals fight. Lions 
and tigers fight as ferociously as did you. 
Wild beasts tear to the death, but they 
never have reunions. Why? Because wild 
beasts do not fight for ideas. They merely 
fight for blood. All these men and all their 
comrades went out inspired by two immor- 
tal ideas: first, that liberty shall be uni- 
versal in America; and second, that this 
old flag is the flag of a Nation, and not of a 
State — that the Nation is supreme over all 
people and all corporations. Call it a State; 
call it a section; call it a South; call it a 
North; call it anything you wish, and yet, 
armed with the nationality that God gave 
us, this is a Nation against all State- 
sovereignty and secession whatever! It is 
the immortality of that truth that makes 
these reunions, and that makes this one. 
You believed it on the battle-field, you be- 
lieved it in the hell of Andersonville, and 
you believe it to-day, thank God! and you 
will believe it to the last gasp." 



SPEECH OF GEN. GARFIELD. 203 

Voices— '^ Yes, we will!" ''That's so!" etc. 

Gen. Garfield — "Well, now, fellow-citizens 
and fellow-soldiers — but 1 am not worthj^ 
to be your fellow in this work — I thank you 
for having asked me to speak to you.'' 

Cries of— "Go on! Go on!" "Talk to us 
some more!" — etc. 

"I want to say simply that I have had 
one opportunity only to do you any service. 
I- did hear a man who stood by my side in 
the halls of legislation — the man that of- 
fered on the floor of Congress the resolu- 
tion that any man who commanded colored 
troops should be treated as a pirate, and not 
as a soldier — I heard that man calmly say, 
Avith his head up in the light, in the pres- 
ence of this American people, that the 
Union soldiers were as well treated and as 
kindly treated in all the Southern jDrisons 
as were the rebel soldiers in all the North- 
ern prisons." 

Voices — "Liar!" "Liar!" ''He was a 
liar!" [Groans, hisses, and a storm of in- 
dignation.] 

Gen. Garfield — "I heard him declare that 
no kinder men ever lived than Gen. Winder 
and his Commander-in-chief, Jeff Davis. 
And I took it upon myself to overwhelm 
him with the proof that the tortures you 
suffered, the wrongs done to you, were suf- 



204 SPEECH OF GEN. GARFIELD. 

fered and done with the knowledge of the 
Confederate authorities, from Jetf Davis 
down — that it was a part of their i3olicy to 
make you idiots and skeletons, and to ex- 
change your broken and shattered bodies 
and dethroned minds for strong, robust, 
well-fed rebel prisoners. That policy, I af- 
firm, has never had its parallel for atrocity 
in the civilized world/' 

A voice — "That's so!" 

Gen. Garfield — '' It was never heard of in 
any land since the dark ages closed upon 
the earth. While history lives, men have 
memories. We can forgive and forget all 
other things before we can forgive and for- 
get this. 

'' Finally, and in conclusion, I am willing, 
and 1 think that I speak for thousands of 
others — I am willing to see all the bitter- 
ness of the late war buried in the grave of 
our dead. I would be willing that we 
should imitate the condescending, loving 
kindness of Him who planted the green 
grass on the battle-fields and let the fresh 
flowers bloom on all the graves alike. I 
would clasp hands with those who fought 
against us, make them my brethren and 
forgive all the past, only on one supreme 
condition: that it be admitted in practice, 
acknowledged in theory, that the cause for 



SPEECH OF GEN. GARFIELD. 205 

which we fought and you suffered, was and 
is and forever more will be right, eternally 
right. That the cause for which they 
fought was and forever will be the cause of 
treason and wrong. Until that is acknowl- 
edged, my hand shall never grasp any 
rebel's hand across any chasm, however 
small." 



A VISIT TO ANDEESONVILLE. 



A correspondent of the Boston Herald 
who recently visited the site of the prison 
at Andersonville, writes as follows: 

'Anderson is the name of a station on 
the Southwestern Railroad, about sixty 
miles, or two hours' ride, from Macon. It 
is nothing but a rail,road station, and the 
only- other thing besides the railroad which 
characterizes the spot, is the immense 
Union Cemetery, of some twenty acres, 
over which floats the Star-Spangled Banner. 
The Cemetery is located on the spot where 
the prisoners were buried, and the trenches 
were dug with such precision and regular- 
ity that the soldiers were not generally 
disturbed, but allowed to remain as their 
comrades interred them, working under the 
watchful eyes and fixed bayonets of the 
(206) 



ANDERSONVILLE IN 1880. 207 

Georgia Home-Guard. The Cemetery is 
surrounded by a stout brick wall, with an 
iron gate, and is under the supervision of a 
Superintendent, who lives on the grounds. 
It is a plain spot. There is not much at- 
tempt made to ornament this city of our 
martyred dead. It would take a great deal 
of even such influences as plants and flowers 
possess to dispel the melancholy memories 
that haunt this hill in the pine woods of 
South Georgia. 

" Southerners shun the spot, but the Cem- 
etery is much visited by Northern travelers, 
and the register in the Superintendent's 
lodge contains many strange inscriptions 
besides the names of the visitors. One lady 
asks the forgiveness of God for the murder- 
ers of her brother, who sleeps in the Ceme- 
terj^ Sentiments of passionate denuncia- 
tion are more frequent. Occasionally a man 
who was in the stockade turns up among 
the visitors. These men, whatever their 
natural temper, the Superintendent says, 
can almost be distinguished by the efi'ects 
of fear, dread, and vivid recollection, which 
come back like a shock into their faces as 
they again stand on the now quiet and sun- 
lit scene of their war experiences. 

^' In the Cemetery the ground is of a gen- 
eral level, and the graves of the known and 



208 ANDERSONVILLE IN 1880. 

unknown, properly separated, range in rows, 
closely laid, as far as the eye can reach. 
There are actually buried on this elevation 
thirteen thousand, seven hundred and fifteen 
men! The soldier whose identity was pre- 
served by his comrades is marked in his 
resting-place by a white marble stone, ris- 
ing eighteen inches above the level of the 
ground. A square mar])le block with the 
word 'Unknown,' is repeated about one 
thousand times in the Cemetery. There 
was no necessity for the contractor to swell 
his bill with mule-bones in filling up this 
burial-place. There were bones, and mil- 
lions of bones; bones ready at hand when 
he began his work to occupy him till long 
after he was wearied of it and longed to see 
it done. The bodies of fourteen thousand 
men, who perished not where death was 
neck and neck with life — on the battle-field 
— but in the comparative (?) security of 
prison walls. 

"Part of the stockade is still standing. 
There were two rows of trees, one inside 
the other. The outer row has fallen down, 
save for a few posts here and there, but a 
large part of the inner wall still stands. 
Trees have grown up around the old pen, 
and a thick growth of underbrush now 
covers the site of the prison. No traces of 



ANDERSON VILLE IN 1880. 209 

the famous brook that ran through the 
stockade remain, nor the wonderful 
wells dug by the prisoners. It is all now a 
mild and peaceful section of the country. 
Many of the soldiers in the Cemetery have 
handsome headstones erected to their mem- 
ories by friends in the North, and efforts 
are frequently made to have certain graves 
'kept green' with flowers and a shower- 
pot."' 



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ligious movement. 12mo., 476 pages, cloth 2 00 

Hartzel (Jonas). 

The BaptismarControversy : Its exceeding sinfulness. By Eld. 
Jonas Hartzel. 12mo., cloth 1 50 

This is the latest work from the pen of this venerable and dis- 
tinguished author, than whom few men are better litted to 
write upon this vexed question. The work forms a neat and 
well-executed volume of 387 pages, and contains as a frontis- 
piece a well-executed portrait and autograph of the well-known 
author. 
Hartzel. 

The IHvinity of Christ and the Duality of Man. By Elder 
Jonas Hartzel 75 

Important themes handled in a masterly way by a close reasoner 
and a careful student of the word of God. With as much Ra- 



PUBLICATIONS OF CENTRAL BOOK CONCERN. 5 

tionalism and Materialism as are now afloat, it is important 
tliat Disciples everywhere btj fully armed. This book of 176 
pages is an excellent helper in these controversies, and should 
be generally read and studied— Christian Standard. 

Hinsdale (Burke A.) 

The Gemdneness a'lid AuthBnticity of the GosiieU : An argument 
conducted on historical and critical grounds. 27t) pages, 
12mo., cloth, extra 1 25 

Holy Spirit. 
A Scriptural View of the Office of the Holy Spirit: By Robert 
Richardson. l'2mo., 324 pages, cloth 1 50 

Holy J-^pirit. 

Its Infliience in Conversion: A debate between Rev. Asa Sleeth, 
of the Methodist Episcopal Church, and Elder J. W. Randall, 
of the Christian Church. Question— Do the Scriptures teach 
the direct influence of the Holy Spirit in conversion? 12mo., 
23(3 pages, cloth 1 00 

Johnson (John T.) 

Biography of John T. Johnson: By John Rogers, of Carlisle, 
Ky. With steel portrait. 408 pages, cloth i 1 50 

Lamar (James S.) 

The Orqanon of Scripture: or The Inductive Method of Biblical 
Interpretation. 12mo. , 324 pages, cloth 1 50 

Lamar. 

Commentary on the Gospel of Luke. Volume 2 of New Testament 

Commentary. Crown, 8vo., 233 pages, cloth 2 00 

Sheep 2 50 

Half calf 3 00 

Living Oracles. 

TTie New Testament ; Translated from the Original Greek. By 
Drs. George Campbell, James MacKnight, and Philip Dodd- 
ridge. With Prefaces, various Emendations, and an Ap- 
pendix. By Alexander Campbell. 32mo., 336 pages, cloth . 50 

Loos (Charles Louis) 
Commentary on John: Volume 3 of New Testament Commen- 
tary. In course of preparation. 

Lucas (D. R.) 
Faul Darst; or, The Conflict between Love and Infidelity. 16 
mo. , cloth 1 00 

Mathes (J. M.) 
Western Freacher : By Elder J. M. Mathes. This is a valuable 
book containing thirty sermons by some twenty-four of our 
leading preachers, living and dead. It contains a splendid 
lithographic portrait of the author. Price 2 00 

Martin (J. L.) 

Voice of the Seven Thunders: By Elder J. L. Martin. This Is 



6 PUBLICATIONS OF CENTRAL BOOK CONCERN. 

perhaps the most wonderful book of this book-making age. 
It is composed of a series of lectures on the Book of Revela- 
tion, by the late Elder J. L. Martin. It has received the very 
highest commendations of the press, both religious and secu- 
lar. It has been called "The Apocalyptic Key." It is one of 
the most popular works ever published by our brethren. 
Price ; 1 50 

M'Garvey (John W.) 

Commentary on tM Gospels of Matthew and Mark: Volume 1 of 
New Testament Commentary. Crown, 8vo., 382 double- 
column pages. Nowready. Cloth 2 00 

Sheep 2 50 

Half calf antique 3 00 

M'Lean (Archibald) 
The Commission given by Jesus Christ to His Apostles. Illus- 
trated. 12mo., 190 pages, cloth 75 

MiLLiGAN (Robert) 
Commentary on Hebrews: Volume 9 of New Testament Com- 
mentary. Crown 8vo., 396 pages. Now ready; cloth 2 00 

Sheep 2 50 

Half calf antique 3 00 

MiLLlGAN. 
Reason and Revelation ; or, The Province of Reason in matters 
pertaining to Divine Revelation Defined and Illustrated. 
Crown, 8vo., 564 pages, cloth 2 00 

MiLLIGAN. 

The Scheme of Redemption, as it is revealed and taught in the 

Holy Scriptures. Crown, 8vo. , 578 pages, cloth 2 00 

MiLLIGAN. 

Analysis of the Four Gospels and Acts ; with leading queries 
and illustrations, for the use of Sunday-schools, families, etc. 
8vo., 413 pages, cloth 2 00 

Moore (W. T.) 

TJie Pulpit of the Christian Church: A Series of Discourses, 
doctrinal and practical, from twenty-eight representative men 
among the Disciples of Christ; with brief biographical sketch 
and portrait of each contributor. 8vo., 589 pages, cloth extra 3 00 

Fine edition on toned paper, cloth extra, gilt top 4 00 

Turkey morocco, gilt edge 8 00 

Muensher, D. D., (Joseph). 
An Introduction to the Orthography and Pronunciation of the 
English Language. 12mo., 210 pages, cloth — 1 00 

MUNNELL AND SwEENEY. 
SMll Christians go to War? A discussion between Thomas 
Munnelland John S. Sweeney. 12mo., 248 pages, cloth. .. . 1 00 

Mitchell, (Nathan J.) 
Reminiscences and Incidents in the life of a Pioneer Preacher of 



PUBLICATIONS OF CENTIIAL BOOK CONCERN. 7 

the ancient gospel. With a few characteristic discourses by 
Nathan J. Mitchell. To which is appended a brief Biography 
and sermons and addresses of John Packer Mitchell. Crown 
Svo. , about 480 pages. Piice in cloth 2 00 

PiNKERTON (Lewis L.) 

Life, Letters and addresseft of Lewis L. Pinkerton. With steel 
portrait. Edited by Prof. John Shackleford. 12mo., 350 

pages, cloth 1 50 

Richardson (Robert). 
Meuioiy-s of Alexander Campbdl, embracing a view of the Origin, 
Progress and Principles of the Religious Reformation which 
he advocated. By Robert Richardson. The same, complete 
In one volume, containing 1.200 pages, elegantly and sub- 
stantially bound. Crown, 8vo., library sheep 4 00 

Richardson. 
A Scriptural Vieto of the Office of the Holy Sinrit. 12mo. 324 

pages, cloth 1 50 

Riverside; 
Or, Wmni7ig a Sold. By Marie Radcliffe Butler. 12mo., 174 

pages, cloth, Illustrated 75 

Rose Carleton's Reward. 

By Margaret Frances. 12 mo., 283 pages; cloth, illustrated. . 100 
Scott (Walter). 

The Messiahship; or. Great Demonstration. Written for the 
Unionof Christian principles, as pleaded for in the current 
Reformation. 12mo. , 384 pages, cloth 1 *50 

Smith (Butler K.) 
Serial Discourses: A book of twenty Sermons on various sub- 
jects, embodying a brief synopsis of the Divine Scheme of 
Human Redemption and Recovery from Sin. 12mo., 324 
pages, cloth 1 50 

Smith (Elder John). 
Life of Elder John Smith : with some account of the Rise and 
Progress of the Current Reformation. By John Augustus Wil- 
liams. Crown, 8vo. , 578 pages, cloth 2 00 

Sheep 2 50 

Walsh (John Tomline). 
A Book of Sennons : Practical and Controversial. Royal octavo, 
346 pages, cloth 1 50 



PUBLICATIONS OP CENTKAL BOOK CONCERN. 



Hymn Books and Hymnals. 



Christian Hymn Book. 

A compilation of Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs, original 
and selected. By A. Campbell and others. Eevised and en- 
larged by a committee. 

SMALL EDITION. ( Pearl 48mo. ) 

Sheep 50 

Arabesque 60 

Imitation Turkey, gilt edge 1 10 

Turkey Morocco, gilt edge 1 3.5 

Turkey, with gilt clasp 2 00 

MEDIUM EDITION. (Brevier 24mo. ) 

Sheep 75 

Arabesque 1 00 

Imitation Turkey, gilt edge 1 60 

Turkey Morocco, gilt edge 2 00 

Turkey, with gilt clasp 2 75 

LARGE EDITION. (Pica 12mo.) 

Sheep 2 00 

Arabesque 2 50 

Turkey Morocco, beveled antique, gilt edge 4 00 

Turkey Morocco, beveled antique, extra gilt 4 50 

Christian Hymnal. 
A choice collection of Hvmns for Congregational and Social 
Worship, with tunes adapted to the l.:524 Hymns of the Chris- 
tian Hymn Book, arranged by a Committee of Harmonists and 
Musical Authors, under the direction of the Christian Hymn 
Book Committee, newly revised and enlarged. 12mo. 875 
hymns, 40i» tunes. ;3t)0 pages. Elegantly bound in cloth, ver- 

niilion ed^es. English cloth 1 00 

English cloth, beveled boards, gilt side, vermilion edges 1 2.5 

English cloth, beveled and gilt edge, new style 2 00 

Turkey Antique, gilt edge 8 25 

Turkey Morocco, extra, beveled, full gilt 3 75 

Christian Hymnal. 

Cheap Edition. Bound in boards, wire stitched 50 

Per dozen by express 4 80 

Per hundred by express 40 00 

Per dozen by mail 5 40 

Supplement to the Christian Hymnal. 
For Congregational, Social, and Family Worship. Published by 

direction of Hymn Book Committee. Single copy 10 

Perdozen 75 



PUBLICATIONS OP CENTllAL BOOK CONCERN. 



Christian Sunday-School Library. 



New edition, with new illustrations, written and published expressly 
for Christian Sunday-schools and Christian families. 

Goodness of God. Battle of Life. 

Miracles of Christ. Plea for Sunday-schools. 

Childhood of Jesus. Searching the Scriptures. 

Great Preachers. Parti. Americans in Jerusalem. 3 vols. 

"2. Lessons for Teachers. 

Young Teachers. 2 vols. Law of Beneficence. 

The Air we Breathe. The Israelite. 

Our Duties. Lectures for Children. 

Mary and Martha. Our Lord and Saviour. 

Old Testament Facts. Jesus is the Christ. 

Rare Testimony, Broken Household. 

Maternal Influence. Weeping and Tears. 

The Great Teacher. History of Jesus. Part 1. 
Uncle Harlin's Voyages, 2 vols. " " " 2. 

Week-day Readings. 2 vols, " " " 3. 

History of David The Chinese. 3 vols. 

Law of Love. Wonders of the Atmosphere. 

Apostle Peter. Outward Man. 

Fanny Manning. Life of Paul. 

God's Goodness. The Happy Day, 

Vegetable Creation. 2 vols. Evidences of Christianity. 

The books are neatly and substantially bound in cloth, with gilt 
back. Fifty books in forty volumes. 16mo, cloth 12 00 

Riverside ; or Winning a Soul, By Marie R, Butler. 174 pages, 
illustrated. 12mo, cloth 90 

Grandma's Patience ; or, Mrs, James' Christmas Gift, By Marie 
R, Butler, 32mo, cloth, illustrated 40 

Dnke Christopher ; A Story of the Reformation. By Fanny H, 
Christopher. 32mo, cloth 40 

Bartholet Milon ; A Sequel to Duke Christopher. By Fanny H. 
Christopher. 32 mo, cloth 40 

Rose Carleton's Reward. By Margaret Frances. 12mo, illus- 
trated, 283 pages, cloth 1 00 



10 PUBLICATIONS OF CENTRAL BOOK CONCERN. 



Sunday-School Papers. 



The Little Christian. 

Weekly, Semi-Monthly, and Monthly. A beautiful illustrated 
paper for Sunday-schools. It is intended to furnish the chil- 
dren and youth with tirst-class reading matter for the improve- 
ment of heart and mind. It is carefully edited and profusely 
illustrated with tine engravings. Published for every Sunday 

in the year. The Weekly, per copy, one 45 

The Semi-Mouthly, per copy, one year 25 

The Monthly, " " " " 75 

The monthly edition is made up of the current weekly issues, 
neatly bound, and it is the only edition sent to single subscribers. 

The Christian Bible Lessons. 

International Series :— 

10 copies, one year, to one address 1 20 

25 •' " " " " 2 80 

50 " " " " " ..., 5 60 

100 '♦ " •' " " 9 60 

If one month's lessons are ordered at a time, the rates will be 
as follows : 

10 copies 15 

25 " 30 

50 " 55 

100 " 1 00 

The Little Ones. 

For Infant Classes (PuMished Weekly). Printed on the very 
best quality of highly calendared and tinted paper. Each 
number will be handsomely illustrated with two or more tine 
engravings, No pains or expense will be spared to make it 
the best and prettiest little paper published. One page will be 
devoted to the lesson, prepared with great care in tlae most 
child-like, yet intelligent manner. Five copies, or more 25c. 
per copy, a year. 

Christian S. S. Teacher. 

Devoted to Sunday-school instructions and interests ; containing 
the International Lessons, Maps, Notes, Hints, etc., etc., for 
Teachers, Parents, Superintendents, and all Sunday-school 
workers. Per year 60 



PL'BLICATIONS OF CENTRAL BOOK CONCERN. 11 



Sunday-School Music Books. 



Fount of Blessing. 

By R. fx. Staples, is the latest and best book published. All the 
best writers and coniDOsers are represented. No time, labor, 
or expense has been spared to make it the best. Send 30 

cents for a copy for examination. Price 30 

Per dozen by express o k nn 

Per hundred by express J,b {)() 

The Morning Star. 

By Knowles Shaw. The author's last book. A favorite from the 

beginning, and does not wem' out. Price 35 

Per dozen by express ® oO 

Gospel Echoes. 
By R. G. staples. A new and choice coUection of Hymns and 
Songs for the Sunday-schools, Prayer Meeting and Home Cir- 
cle. Price, per copy -^^ 

Per dozen by express ok nX 

Per hundred by express .^b vo 

Pearly Gates. 
A collection of New Songs for the Sunday-school. By J. H. 

Rosecrans. Per copy 25 

Per dozen by express on nn 

Per hundred by express ^^O uu 

Apostolic Hymns and Songs. 

A collection of Hymns and Songs, both new and old, for 
Church, Protracted Meetings, and Sunday-school. By 
D. R. Lucas. Revised and enlarged. Sixteen pages of new 
matter have been added. Some new and popular pieces have 
been substituted for some of the less attractive ones in the old 
part. It is now the Cheapest Music Book FiMishecl. All other 
books of same size are double the price. Price, per copy, by 

u;ia^il 2Xj 

Price, per dozen, by express 2 00 

Price, per hundred, by express lb uo 



12 PUBLICATIONS OF CENTRAL BOOK CONCERN. 



Small Books on Great Subjects. 



In Neat Colored Paper Covers. 

TRUE BASIS OF CHRISTIAN UNION. 

By Isaac Eriett 10 

W03rAN'S WOllK IN THE CHURCH. 

By W. T. Moore 10 

GRACE AND GOOD WORKS. 

By President Milligan 10 

FIRST PRINCIPLES ; OR THE ELEMENTS OF THE GOSPEL. 

By Isaac Errett. 159 pp 15 

A BRIEF TREATISE ON PRAYER. 

By President R. Milligan 10 

PRINCIPLES AND OBJECTS OF THE RELIGIOUS REFORMATION. 

As pleaded by A. Campbell and others. By R. Richardson. . . 10 
SALT A TION FROM SIN; OR, WHAT MUST I DO TO BE SA TED ? 

By Dr. J. P.Walsh 10 

" LIFE AND DEATH.'' 

By A. Campbell. A Refutation of Materialism and Modern 

Sadduceism. 96 pp 10 

CHRISTIAN EXPERIENCE ; OR SINCERITY SEEKING THE WAY 

To Heaven. A Dialogue. By Benj. Franklin. 96 pp 10 

THE UNION MOVEMENT. 

A Dialogue, showing the only possible ground of Christian 

Union. By Benj. Franklin. 92 pp 10 

TRUE METHOD OF SEARCHING THE SCRIPTURES. 

By President Fanning. 136 pp 15 

SPIRITUALISM SELF-CONDEMNED. 

By Isaac Errett. A very valuable Tract, with neat cover 6 

RADICALISM TS. CONSERVATISM. 

Their Influence on the Development of a True Civilization. 

By W. T. Moore 10 

SIX LETTERS TO A SCEPTIC. 

By A. Campbell. 57 pp 6 

OUR STRENGTH AND OUR WEAKNESS. 

By W. T. Moore 10 

THE PASTORATE. 

By D. S. Burnet o 10 

SCRIPTURAL SANCTIFICATION. 

An Examination of the Doctrine of Instantaneous Holiness. 

By J. C. Tully 10 

THE BIBLE ; ITS O WN INTERPRETER. 

By J. F. Rowe. 86 pp 10 



rUBLICATIONS OK CiiNTKAL JiOUK CONCEUN. 13 

HISTORY OF A GREAT MIXD. 

(John Stuart Mill.) An article by B. A. Hinsdale 10 

EVILS OF INTEMPERANCE. 

A Series ol Essays. By Chas. P. Evans. 32 mo. 90 pp 10 

THE CHURCH OF THE FUTURE. 

By W. T. Moore, 8vo 10 

EVANGELISTS AND THEIR WORK IN THE CHURCHES. 

By Thomas Munnell . 10 

OUR FLEA AND MISSION. 

By D. R. Dmigan 10 

WOMAN'S WORK IN THE CHURCH OF CHRIST. 

By Mrs. A. M. Mathes 10 

MODERN REVIVALISM. 

By D. R. Dungau 10 

THE MISSION OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

By John W. Randall 10 

THE POVERTY OF JESUS THE WEALTH OF THE SAINTS. 

By D. S. Bm-uet 10 

CHURCH DISCIPLINE. 

By Elder J. Hartzel 10 

WHICH IS THE TRUE CHURCH? 

By Elder A. Ellmore. A valuable Tract 15 

FOLLIES OF FREE THOUGHT. 

By J. W. Mouser. A nice Tract. Written against Spiritualism 

and every form of Infidelity. 108 pp 20 

MORRIS' LETTERS; 

Or, Seven Reasons for not being a Methodist. By J. M. Mathes 25 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF GETTING RELIGION. 

ByA. I. Hobbs 10 

THE SABBATH QUESTION; 

Or, What Day Shall Christians Keep— the Seventh or the First? 

By Elder F. Walden 10 

THE CIIl'RCII OF CHRIST IDENTIFIED. 

By A. Burns. Essays designed to assist the honest inquirer after 

the " Old Paths" that he may walk therein. Price 10 

A SHORT REFUTATION OF SABBATARIANISM. 

By A. Burns. Being the substance of a four days' discussion of 
the Sabbath Question, as related to the New Testament. By A. 
Burns, ot|the Church of Christ, and Mr. Dimmick, of the Sabba- 
tarian Adventist 10 

THE MISTAKES OF INGERSOLL ABOUT MOSES. 

By D. R. Dungan. This tract is a lecture in review of the much 
talked-of lecture of Col. Ingersoll upon the "Mistakes of 
Moses." For the poison diffused by the Infidel orator there is 
no better antidote. Elder Dungan is his equal in wit and in 
powers of ridicule, while he is far superior in logic and in knowl- 
edge of the subject. Indeed he shows that Ingersoll is either 
culpably ignorant of the writings of the great Law-giver whom 
he assails, or else wilfully misrepresents the greatest teacher 
of the Pre-Christian world. The tract is a complete refutation 
of the sophisms and misrepresentations of the Chicago lee- 



14 PUBLICATIONS OP CENTIIAL BOOK CONCERN. 

turer. It ought to be placed in the hands of all who have been 
exposed to skeptical influences, or who need to be confirmed in 
the laith, and every Christian should read it in order to know 

how to meet the cavils of the enemy. Price 10 

THE DISCIPLES OF CHRIST. 

Abrief History of their rise and progress; wherein is shown 
the Difference between a Reformation of Sects and a Complete 
Restoration of Apostolic Christianity; and also a connected view 
of the Various Reformations of the last three hundred years. 
By J. F. Rowe 10 

The Folloxoing are Without Covers: 

THE PLAN OF SALVATION. 

A Sermon. By Isaac Errett. 8vo 10 

THE FELLOWSHIP. 

By Isaac Errett. 8vo 10 

BAPTISM FOR THE REMISSION OF SINS. 

By W. K.Pendleton. 8vo 10 

THE UNITY OF THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

ByJ. F. Rowe. 8vo 10 

EXPOSITIOX OF JJEIE NEW BIRTH. 

By J. F. Rowe. 8vo 10 

CONFIRM ATIOX. 

By W. J. Barbee. 8vo 10 

OUR POSITION. 

A Brief Statement of the Distinctive Features of the Plea for 

Reformation urged by the People known as the Disciples of 

Christ. By Isaac Errett. Single copy. 8vo 5 

THE EVIDENCES OF PARDON. 

12 pp., 12mo 5 

BAPTISTS AND DISCIPLES. 

Correspondence between the Ohio Missionary Society and the 

Ohio Baptist State Convention on question of Union. 8vo. 54 pp 5 
CHURCH AND SOU 001. 

By John Aug. Williams 8 

DUTY OF CHRISTIANS TO CIVIL GOVERNiMENT. 

By S. E. Shepard 

HEATHEN TESTIMONIES TO THE ANTIQUITY AND 

Truthfulness of the Old Testament. By Thomas Muunell 

THE NEW COMMANDMENT. 

A Tract. By Jonas Hartzell 5 

POSITIVE DIVINE INSTITUTIONS. 

A Tract. ByJohnTaffe. 12mo.,16pp 5 

LOOIC OF INFIDELITY 

H. S. Bosworth. 8 pp 1 

Tracts will be sent, posf-xxdd by mail, by the doz. at '20 per cent, dis- 
count; in lots of 50, at 30 per cent, discount; in lots of 100, at 1/3 
discount. Per 100, by express, 40 per cent, discount. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




013 786 688 2 



